


The Old Gods and The New

by Pandigital



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cultural Differences, Discussion of Abortion, Elvhen Pantheon, F/F, F/M, Female/Male Friendship - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), M/M, Mild Gore, Off-screen Relationship(s), Racism, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Relationship Discussions, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slavery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 65,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandigital/pseuds/Pandigital
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian remembers, in a vague way, seeing Mythal before Lavellan had dragged him and Solas and Bull(damn that man) to her shrine. He remembers only three things about the old Elvhen deco painting in the Circle he had trained at. One was that it was a true work of art done in such wonderful colors and with so much detail that, had he been a lover of the arts he might have wept. Two, he was a teenager who was about to get his first blowjob so whatever. And three was that looking back on it, Mythal looked so much like his dear Lavellan. So much so that he wondered if all of this did, in fact, NOT happen by random accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Limbic resonance

**Author's Note:**

> I am ignoring the end scene between Flemeth and Solas because I do what I want. Also, Dorian is my fave and my quizzy and him were tighter than a corset during my play through. So yeah, this is just my own little "what-if" thing that has been bumping around in my head for weeks. Please enjoy.

The Old Gods

Fen’harel didn’t visit often. Her little wolf enjoyed bothering his brothers and sisters too much to come and bother her. While he lived and breathed the wild lands and the humans and the place between life and death, she enjoyed her place instead. Hidden far in the beyond with only one entrance through the mirror she had magicked. She had done this to many over the years. Easier to get around and easy to destroy, or curse, should she not want to be followed. Unlike her little wolf, her place was soft.

Fen’harel was visiting today and today his lip was bleeding and his eyes did not meet hers. She waited as she tended to her garden in her golden city. He would speak when he was ready. Her home was made of crystal pillars that stood on the edge of an empty sea that echoed words and music as phantom waves lapped at her bare ankles and feet. Her hair was down today, tickling her hips and his hair was pulled and ripped in places. He had worked so hard to braid his hair like he had. He had taken to calling them “Dreadlocks” in mockery of his name.

From her flowers a voice sang, which told her tales of times she had witnessed but had long since forgotten. Her guards stood at the ready all around her home and Fen’harel (poor child that he was) only had the one with him. He looked just as worse for wear as he did. She liked his guard though. Funny man. Dark skin, grey eyes and with a flare for odd fashion(buckles, so many buckles) and loved to raise the dead to do his bidding. He spoke so much like a human she wondered if he was one since she had never seen his ears. He might have been.

She smiled at them both and the look of guilt seemed to worsen. She wanted to know what had happened but she knew Fen’harel. He would rather deny and lie then tell her the truth should she push. And she had known him for a very long time. She was immortal. A god. She was patient. She could wait. He couldn’t.

“I hit him.” Fen’harel whispered, his eyes downcast as he gripped his legs tightly.

“Three guess to the “him” my dear lord is referring to, lovely Mythal.” Maha said with his coy smirk. Mythal took a seat on the grass in front of him and leaned heavily onto her palm as she watched him shift under her gaze.

“I choose my dear son, Dirthamen. My little liar.” Fen’harel nodded his head.

“Right in the nose. BAM! Blood and magic and swearing. June had to break them up.” Mythal shook her head with a snort. June. Her silly daughters paramore. He loved her so and yet, Sylaise did not love him the same. She flopped back onto the soft grass and just watched as the colors of the beyond drifted by any way they please. She pat the grass next to her and Fen’harel curled tightly into her. She held him close and smoothed his hair.

“Why?”

“Because of what he did.”

“What did he do, _Ma vhenan_?”

“He took so many of them, in the middle of the night, to go and build him a temple. So many died that Falon’Din could not even find them all. Then he took the woman, Eth, that was her name and told her that she would give him a son who would never leave that temple. Not until he was a demon sealed away and killed.”

Maha gave a snort. Mythal felt her rage boil under her skin and before she could speak she felt her mirror shake in fear as Elgar’nan stormed in. Her guards drew their weapons and she stood in move fluid movement. Fen’harel did not move from where he had curled in the grass. Her rage boiled as the dear Allfather moved closer. He looked ready to kill and she moved in his path.

The beyond quivered with their rage.

“Do you know what your fucking son has done?!”

Mythal gave a smile as soft as the ocean mist and gave a little bow to the Allfather, lifting one end of her white dress in a mocking curtsy, “ _Garas quenathra_?”

“You know well what he has done. Our first born son is missing an eye because of this wild animal you bore.”

_“Ir abelas, ma vhenan. Mala suledin nadas.”_

“I will not endure this insult to my blood, _asha._ ”

“ _Asha_? HA! I am more a man than you will ever be. And do not take that tone with me. Fen’harel IS your blood as well as mine.”

“He is no son of mine.”

“Well, thank goodness for small miracles then.” Fen’harel fliched as Mythal was slapped. Her head turned, her silver hair moving like a curtain in the wind. She turned her head to glare at the Allfather. He gave her a glare back, but not as powerful. Not as full of hatred as hers.  _“Ma serannas._ ”

He gave a low growl and left the same way he entered. Mythal wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and turned to her small wolf. He would not meet her eyes. She walked to the empty sea and gazed deep into the water that wasn’t there. She folded her arms tightly to her chest and spoke softly to Fen’harel. The soft words that pierced the heart worse than any blade or arrow. “Your father will take something you love from you. This will not end well.”

“This...this was inevitable, Mythal.”

She gave a low laugh, “Oh...my dear little wolf. My Fen’harel. My only friend. _Telanadas_.”

Fen’harel shot to his feet, his voice cracking with a rage born from panic and the stupid pride of youth, “That isn’t true! I am _**stronger**_ than my brothers! I am braver and _**smarter** _ than my sisters! _I was a child when you chose me to be like you!_ I was worthy, more worthy, than all of them! I will not always need you. One day I will be wiser than you! **_I will be the Allfather and you will be dead!”_**

The silence seemed to go on for eons.

Finally she spoke, sadly, with such resigned disappointment that only mothers seemed to be able to get their voices like that. It made even the bravest warriors be riddled with guilt, _“Dirthara-ma_.” And as she turned her changed. Younger. So much younger and her face was no longer bare it had the lines of Mythal on her face, the marks of a slave. She eyes were no longer glowing golden like fires, but just a plain brown. Her silvery starlight hair had darkened into brown, her skin was still the same sun kissed bronze it had been and she was no longer Mythal. He could feel the fear grip his heart as the palace crumbled and twisted into red lyrium. She lifted her left hand and he saw it. The mark of his ignorance and failure. It glowed a sicking green and evil seemed to weep from the wound on her hand.

“Solas…” she said as her voice cracked with fear and then...and then..he awoke with a gasp, clutching his heart and looking around. He could feel the cold sweat on his neck and the tears on his face. He could feel the early light of the sun on his face. She was gone. Fen'harel looked about him at the ruins that were once his home. Alone and forgotten. He had slept too long. He wept.


	2. Check Mate in five moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian had the good social breeding to ignore the tone she had used when speaking of her mark. Solas—when he had been in Skyhold—had often talked to about the fade and how the anchor was connected to it and to negative emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, the quizzy in this is younger then everyone. Like teenager years because I want her to be younger. So this is part of the game cannon that they don't tell you and thus I am taking a lot of artistic shortcuts for which I apologize.

The Dream 

The sweet winds of spring tugged and clutched at his cloak, and he watched the place where she now resided. A good place for her. _Tarasyl'an Te'las._ High up in the mountains where wild things and dangerous paths would confuse the enemy. The _harellan_ had left to the lands that were once his. Slinking off like a beaten dog because he had failed her once before and had done so again. The... _shem_ armies guarded her and her castle.

It was not as grand as her temple had been when she found it and drank from the well that had been given to them so long ago, but given time and the hard work, he and his kin were known for they would make it even more stunning and beautiful for her. But for now, they needed to wait and for the sun to sleep.

He counted his brothers and sisters, Sentinels all, and frowned. Only five hundred with three hundred more coming to meet them from three other temples. The mirrors no longer worked. She had done so when they had killed her. This time she would not die, not give her life for theirs when their lives meant nothing to them without her.

This time they would ensure her safety.

********************************

When the sun had crawled into her room and bathed her face in its golden light, she wanted to kill someone. Her ribs were still sore from her final fight with Corypheus, and her arm was due to be taken out of the cast today. Solas had not returned since he had seen the broken orb. Dagna had fixed it but had told her that whatever old magic had been inside had been set free. Dorian and Vivienne had of course then gotten into a heated discussion with Dagna about magic. Magic could not be created or destroyed. Truth, in fact, was that magic was able to recycle itself, and if it should be changed, the magic would go back to its original form.

Like water. Changing it did meant it had changed but it was still water at its most basic form. Vivienne and Josephine had plans for her today as well. Something about meeting a few nobles from both the Orlesian and Antivian courts. A late lunch was their plan with Leliana in attendance to see if she could find out their dirty secrets. The early hours after seeing the medics were hers. Dorian had promised to teach her how to beat Cullen at chess and they had a game after breakfast.

As she shifted through her larger and softer shirts—she came across the soft blue shirt she had been wearing when Solas had left. She had been in the back of one of the wagons, flying high on a mix of elfroot and rashvine that Stitches had given her and Bull (Bull had been nursing a busted leg and Dorian hovering over the both of them like a worried mother hen). Solas had been there, she knew he had, and he kissed her forehead. He had told her he was sorry for failing her again. She had wanted ask when he had failed her but then he was gone—and no one had been able to find him. Dorian had promised her that Solas had not been in the wagon. It had been cramped enough with the three of them and whatever poor medic had had to endure Dorians sharp tongue.

She chose a simple white cotton shirt with tiny blue birds stitched into the hem and wide sleeves along with loose black pants of the same material. She hated shoes, and after she had saved the world, she no longer had any reason to wear them. Josephine and her had argued for days on this, but she had won in the end because both Cullen and Cassandra had taken her side. She passed through the kitchen and ate five burnt pieces of toast as she made her way to the medics tent. As the cast on her arm (the one that had been cursed and blessed with the anchor) came off, she wiggled her fingers and turned her wrist without any pain in the past three weeks. She saw Bull and Dorian coming out the tavern. She smiled as she ran to them.

She jumped on Bull, and he swung her around to hold her in front of him.

“Look, Dorian!” Bull said as he smiled at her, all teeth and scars, “I caught an elf. I hear they bring good luck if you tickle them until they cry.”

“Braver men than you have tried, The Iron Bull,” she said with a smirk as he put her down and ruffled her brown hair. She was plain even by Elvhen standards. Dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and tan skin that still held the stiffness of youth. Dorian rolled his eyes and a great huff.

“Oh, look, I made her mad. I’m so scared,” he chuckled. His leg was still wrapped tightly from it had been broken.

Dorian gave a coy smile and pulled Lavellan into a one armed hug, tucking her under his arm and into his ribs.

“Thank the Maker then. I was afraid I was going to have to kill on my own.”

“Krem paid us,” she said as she played with one of the buckles on Dorian's chest.

“Is that why he went with Cullen? No wonder. Dirty traitor.” Bull laughed and pushed her gently with his huge hands. Dorian had a shooing motion and let Lavellan go. She stepped away as Dorian kissed Bull chastely on the cheek.

“That makes all the ‘Vints you know traitors then. I am leaving you. To help her.”

“Help her what? Take over the world? She’ll do that before she hits twenty, and by the time she’s old like us, she’ll have converted everyone to be elf minded like her.”

Lavellan stuck out her tongue. “No. Chess.”

“So I was right. Good practice if Cullen decides to retire.”

“Ha!” Dorian said, “If he retires then I’ll go home and get married to a nice backstabbing shrew like how my father wanted.”

“Or Cassandra will wear that dress the holy mothers want to put her in,” Bull said with a smirk as he shifted atop his crutch.

“She doesn’t look right in a dress,” Lavellan said as she waved to Krem, who waved back on his way to the training grounds, where Cassandra was going through training dummies like wet paper.

“Only women like our ambassador and our spymaster look right in dresses. Easier to kill someone if they think you can’t do anything at all.” Bull said.

Dorian clapped his hands, “Right. Well, the sunlight is being wasted, and Bull needs to go to the medics. I’ll take him and meet you in the gardens.”

“Be good. Both of you!”

Dorian looked like someone had insulted him, while Bull laughed loudly as he was lead to the medics. As she passed into the gardens. She looked to the sky and saw that the clouds of winter were no longer hanging so close. She had slept through it and yet it felt like no time had passed at all. She set up the chessboard as the holy mothers and sisters moved around the gardens. A few of the Tranquil tended to the plants that hadn’t died in the winter months. When Dorian came a few minutes later he had brought wine and a glass. He poured a glass as she moved first.

In short order Dorian had her in a tight spot. He drank his wine with a refined air of nobility she didn’t have and didn’t want to have. She glared at the board with all her might.

“Not sleeping well?”

She looked up at him and then back at the board, “Nightmares. Kind of.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know if it's bad dreams or past lives.”

He killed her pawn and she moved her bishop to what she hoped was a safe place on the board, “Give me an example.”

"When I was little I used to have this dream. I dreamed that I live near an ocean that had no water in it and that the me I am now wasn't who lived there."

Dorian looked at the chessboard for a moment and then moved his pawn(that she hadn’t even seen!) to kill her bishop which made her send him a nasty stink eye for losing yet another piece.

"Considering you're not a mange I'm surprised you have dreams about past lives, if that is what they are." he said.

"Do people who are not mages not dream about past lives? I thought everybody did that." Lavellan said as she toyed with her queen, glaring at the chessboard. Stupid human game.

Dorian smirked at the girl sitting cross legged and barefoot across from him. To think that she was only fifteen and had saved the world! He shook his head and answered, "So sorry, my darling but no; people who are not mages do not have dreams about past lives because that requires a connection to the fade which most people do not have unless they were born mages. The fact that you can access memories of a past life like this either means you're going to become a late bloomer Mage and start throwing fireballs each time you sneeze or something else brought this on."

"The mark."

Dorian had the good social breeding to ignore the tone she had used when speaking of her mark. Solas—when he had been in Skyhold—had often talked to about the fade and how the anchor was connected to it and to negative emotions. Like anger and fear and bloodlust. In the heat of battle, it had been a godsend but had proven that only someone with a level head could use it. Lavellan didn't get angry often outside of battle; thus, she was able to make cool and rational choices. Or as rational as a teenager could be. She moved her queen into a compromising space, and Dorian moved his bishop out of the way to prolong the game.

"I dare say that you are about to lose this game, Inquisitor," Cullen said with a chuckle as he walked to the gazebo.

Dorian gave him a polite nod of his head as he took a sip of wine. Lavellan gave a noise of joy and jumped from her chair to hug him. Cullen and Krem had been gone the better part of three weeks and had only gotten back late last night. They had been growing closer, and Dorian liked to entertain the idea that love was in the air; but he knew better than to say anything aloud. Krem might have left their home like he had but some things were beaten into the blood to be ashamed of. Lavellan pulled away, and Cullen gave her a gentle smile.

"Help me win? Please?"

Cullen laughed. "My lady, I have lead your armies to fight demons and worse and have yet to lose a fight. I think I can win against Dorian. Even if he does cheat," he said.

Dorian gave a scoff as Cullen took a seat while Lavellan sat in Dorians lap. He curled his arms around her small waist and had her hold his wine. Cullen rolled his eyes and proceeded to beat him soundly. They spoke of the mission and how Krem had lost his sword and beaten a rogue red Templar with his bare hands. Small units had been popping up all over, even though their leader was now dead. It was proving to be more of a chore then they had thought it would be. Cullen had beaten his addiction to lyrium and thus no longer posed a threat to being corrupted away from the Inquisition.

"I have to leave in a few days," Lavellan said. She handed Dorian his wine.

Cullen and Dorian looked at her.

"Why?" Cullen asked as he reset the board.

"I found the last of those crystal keys for that locked temple in the oasis. Sera and Blackwall are coming with me. If Cassandra can sneak away from the holy mothers long enough she's coming too."

"And if she can't?" Dorian asked.

"Varric and Scout Harding are in the area for the Inquisition. I can pick him up on the way."

Cullen gave a low curse under his breath. " You're still looking for him then?" he asked.

"Solas was a part of us, Cullen. I'm worried about him and ever since Hawke left...we stopped getting letters and everything."

The mood seemed to worsen until Josephine called from across the way, “Lady Lavellan!”

Lavellan gave a low groan, “Noooo….”

Dorian poked her in her side, “Go on now. She’ll be sore at all of us if you don’t eat lunch with those nobles with bad taste.”

“Says the noble with bad taste.” Cullen said with a smirk and Dorian flicked his middle finger up with all the grace of a king. Lavellan gave a snort and left the gazebo. Cullen and Dorian waited until she was gone to speak.

“You and Krem didn’t find him?”

“No. Hints and rumors so old it wasn’t worth it track him. He’s gone.”

“She doesn’t think so.”

“She also thinks that her God's will one day come back and set right the wrongs done to her people by the hands of us humans.” Cullen snapped.

Dorian handed Cullen the glass of wine and he drained the last of it in one go. Dorian filled it again and Cullen only took a few long sips before giving the glass back to Dorian.

“We think the same. The Maker will forgive us someday. We just have to mean it. Even though most of us know that he might never save us.”

Cullen had nothing to say to that.

************

“What if she doesn’t want us?” one of them asked.

“I saw her. I spoke to her. She will.”

“He yelled at her. Had the nerve to say that she was not our people.” another said with a scowl on her face. He turned to look at her, glaring down his nose at her. She looked away.

“She is not. She is Mythal. She is not our people. She is our mother and we will not fail her again. Never again.”

“Where would she have us, Abelas?”

“I dare not assume I know her mind. Until she is alone, we will stand guard here before going to her and asking for forgiveness that we do not deserve.”

“So we come here to hope she will accept us or to die.”

“ _Hahren na melana sahlin emma ir abelas souver'inan isala hamin vhenan him dor'felas in uthenera na revas. Vir sulahn'nehn, vir dirthera, vir samahl la numin, vir lath sa'vunin.”_ Abelas said softly and all of them spoke it back to the wind and hopefully to her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Tarasyl'an Te'las: the place where the sky was held back. Original elven name for Skyhold.  
> hahren na melana sahlin  
> emma ir abelas  
> souver'inan isala hamin  
> vhenan him dor'felas  
> in uthenera na revas
> 
> vir sulahn'nehn  
> vir dirthera  
> vir samahl la numin  
> vir lath sa'vunin
> 
> elder your time is come  
> now I am filled with sorrow  
> weary eyes need resting  
> heart has become grey and slow  
> in waking sleep is freedom
> 
> we sing, rejoice  
> we tell the tale  
> we laugh and cry  
> we love one more day  
> shem: quick. used for humans in a racist way.  
> harellan: trickster, traitor to ones people.


	3. Abelas and Lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They sing with the old songs, clear and bright and high in their hearts. They glow like the winter sun as it sets and they play in the shadows. The names are old and dead and gone. Grief covers their names but their names give them purpose.” Cole rambled off quickly. Sera awoke with a snort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has read this and for those who have left Kudos. I will try to make this story as interesting and fun to read as possible. 
> 
> ranslations:  
> Andaran atish’an: Enter this place in peace. A formal elven greeting. Literally: "I dwell in this place, a place of peace."  
> Ar lasa mala revas: "You are (now) free." or "I give you your freedom."  
> Halam'shivanas: The sweet sacrifice of duty  
> Da: small, diminutive prefix.  
> Durgen’len: Children of the stone. The original Elvish term for the dwarves.  
> Eluvian: mirror. Literally, "seeing glass."  
> Hahren: Elder. Used as a term of respect by the Dalish, but more specifically for the leader of an alienage by the City Elves.  
> Hamin: rest, relax.  
> Vallaslin: Blood writing. The art of tattooing adopted by some elves to more prominently (and some might say belligerently) display their worship of the traditional elven pantheon.

Abelas and Lavellan  

Someone was petting her hair, running their fingers through it and itching along her scalp gently. She could feel their body heat next to her hands, where they were sitting on the bed. She was on her stomach, sleeping and someone was in her room. For a moment she thought that it was Dorian, they had come into each others room in the middle of the night, but the smell of marigolds or that ale he liked to drink was missing. This smell was like...where had she smelt this before? It was so familiar.

 _The Eluvian_ , the voices whispered in her head. She turned head further into her pillow, bringing her hands up and away from the body heat and under the cool dampness of her pillow. The Temple of Mythal had smelled like old books that had reopened and sun light heat with smell of wild flowers and fresh water, choking you with the smell of wet grass and damp moss between the trees. The person had moved to her back, rubbing up and down and working out tense muscles with gentle but strong fingers. She should be afraid or ready to attack with the dagger under her other pillow but she wasn’t. She felt protected. Why?

The smell was bothering her. She knew she knew it. The hand was larger than hers or a male elf's, but smaller than Bulls. Stronger than human hands at least. The hand was rough but soft. A warrior who took pride in their body and strived to keep it running at its best. The hand stopped at her neck and rested there, feeling her pulse and keeping count.

“Soft, sleeping, servant. Wrong, the marks do not belong, but it is not my place to judge, no, she is the judge and the jury and we are hers to do with as she pleases. Slave is the word but it is not a harsh word if it is felt with love. Love, she loved them so much and she paid the price for it. No, not again, the spirit is here, she knows it and loves it. We must as well.” Cole spoke rapidly from the foot of her bed and she gave a groan.

She was tired and wanted to sleep, she had to leave in the morning!

Suddenly the smell made sense. She had smelt it when the immortal elf, Abelas, had passed her as he walked away. It was the smell of ice in your lungs and dust in your nose while sadness made words bitter before leaving the mouth. She shot up in bed, dagger at the ready and he watched her. He did not move to defend or explain himself. Cole stood at the foot of her bed, daggers drawn as well but looking lost. He didn’t know what to do.

She moved from the bed slowly, wishing she had her twin fangs that she had Dagna make for her. Abelas watched her and rose. He walked to her, steps even and measure, hood off and dressed down in simple cloth clothing that looked wrong on a warrior that had told her she was nothing compared to him and his kind. Different elves born from the same sorrow of having no identity to call their own. She stood her ground, ready and waiting as he drew closer. She had seen him fight and knew he had magic more powerful than Dorian and Vivienne put together. She had seen it and felt it.

She was going to fight even if she lost.

She didn’t notice it but now that he stood in the low firelight she could see it. A collar of gold was around his neck, tight and cruel to look at yet it drew the eye all the same. He stopped before her and she waited with her heart beating wildly inside her rib cage which was still hurting. Damn her bruised ribs. Abelas gazed at her and it was different from before. Before he looked at her like how people looked at ugly and large insects that had had the nerve to find a way into their home. He spoke harshly to her and about the history she had been told all her life. The gods had left them to die and cared about nothing except their petty disputes.

Toys for their sick games. And in the end, when the slaves had been freed from their cruel masters they turned on each other and let their empire fall. Stupid children who had never learnt the difference between a cruel hand and a kind one. He was a part of the past that been stripped from the Elven people and now her people knew no peace. They had died for the Exalted Plains, the Emerald Graves, the Dales, Halamshiral; all of it was in vain. Now he was looking at her with something close to shame and desperation. Like how Cullen used to look when his addiction was killing him, before he got better and the day dream of lyrium was stronger than him and her demands that he pay attention to her and do what she wanted.

She had made him play games with her, walked with her in the gardens and the look faded, over time. He was better now. But now, Cullen was not here. Cole was flickering in the fire light, just as confused as she was. She lowered her dagger as he waited. She almost jumped a foot in the air when he fell to his knees and pressed his throat to her dagger. She moved away and yet he stayed.

This man who was a giant among her people. Her father, when he had been alive, was about a head taller than a human woman, but Abelas was just as tall, if not taller, than a human man. Maybe just as big as Cullen or Blackwall. She put her dagger down on the table near the couch and waited. Abelas didn’t move and she sat down on the couch, her body shaking. What was going on? Cole flickered out and then was next to her on the couch. He took her hand and she squeezed it.

“I’ll be ok, Cole.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded her head. Cole squeezed back and then it was just her and Abelas.

She licked her lips and slowed her heart beat, “ _Andaran atish’an_.”

Abelas bowed his whole body low to her, “ _Da’hahren_.”

She shook her head even though he couldn’t see it, “I...I am not _hahren_. I’m...I’m nobody. I was just a stupid kid who got lucky or...unlucky to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have happened to anyone.”

Abelas crawled to her and planted a kiss on the top of her feet. She pulled them up and away from him and curled her body tightly into the couch. Abelas didn’t lift his head when he spoke to her, “ _Hamin ma da’hahren. Ma melava halani. Ir abelas, ma da’hahren._ ”

“What are you talking about?”

“The _Eluvian, ma da’hahren_. So many have been lost to you. Command us and we shall find them and restore them or destroy them. We are willing, as we have always been willing, to serve our patron. Our mother, the merciful Mythal.”

“I met her. She’s not nice. She's a mean old lady with a crabby daughter.” Lavellan said with a sniff and then something clicked inside her brain, “You...you do know I’m not her, right? She gave me her dragon but...I’m not...Mythal.”

“The dragon obeyed its master, just as we do. Our master is Mythal. Patron of the unlucky, protector of lost children, the dread tremor.”

“I’m not her!”

“You are her reborn and your guardians are here once more. Command us, _da’hahren._ Punish me for the way I spoke to you, all of us, for thinking you had left us when it was us who had left you to fight an usurper on your own.”

Lavellan could feel a headache coming on. _Use the Eluvian_ , the voices whispered softly, _take the orb and use the mirror. Go back home. Sleep and be safe once more._

She looked to the orb that she had placed on top of the fireplace between two heavy tomes and a small dagger her mother had sent before she died by the hands of Red Templars. She glared at the orb now.

“I’m leaving in the morning, Abelas. I have to go to the Temple of Pride and open the doors.”

“Allow me to protect you, _ma da’hahren_.”

Lavellan moved from the couch and around Abelas to stand by the stairs before backtracking and grabbing her pillow and her blanket. She left the room and opened the door to the landing of the stairs only to stop and feel fear grip her. Elvhen eyes could see in the dark. They reflected the light like how wolves and cats did in the darker hours. So many sets of eyes had turned to look at her. She shut the door quickly and when she turned around she almost screamed. Abelas was at the top of the stairs, his eyes glowing in the darkness.

Watching her.

This was the true difference between her clan and the ancient elves. Their eyes. She remembers her clan's eyes well, even when seeing them at night. Softer and rounded, less harsh, less of a glow. No power. His eyes, those eyes outside. They glowed with powerful magic and held no love or softness in them. She was trapped.

She will not be afraid of him. She had sealed a hole in the sky, had killed a would be god, and made a spirit into a human(more or less), and had lived. She had not been afraid then and she would not be afraid now.

“What do you want, Abelas. And just tell me the truth. That’s all I want.”

Abelas bowed at his waist, “To serve.”

She honestly didn’t know what to expect.

**********

Vivienne had lived in a Circle of Magi all her life and had learned how to read the people around her in order to better understand them. When one of Leliana's runners came for her as she dressed for court she knew something was very much wrong. No runner ever looked so scared so early in the morning, not since the Inquisitor had saved the world. It thus made sense when she was taken to the room that had been set aside for large meetings of the inner circle. It was above the war room, much like how the library and what was once that hobo apostates drawing room were set up. Much larger and much more grand but the same. She sat down in her chair next to Dorian, who sat next the Bull, and crossed her legs as she observed the scene before her.

A very tall elf dressed in shining off gold armor was standing next to where the Inquisitor was sitting, leaning heavily on her hands, eyes tight and red from lack of sleep. She was still dressed in her sleep dress even. At the table everyone was watching with mixed emotions. Cullen and Cassandra, sitting to the right of the Inquisitor, looked angry and suspicious. Varrics chair was empty since he was out at the moment, while Cole rocked back and forth chewing on his nail in the seat next to Varric's. Blackwall and Sera(who was still half asleep) muttered to each other under their breath. Leiana sat next to her and they watched the scene in front of them with polite faces that they had perfected at court.

Dorian was glaring like this elf like any father with a young daughter did. The Iron Bull was leaning, slumped in his seat, one hand leaning on his cheek. He had been a Qunari spy, and his training hadn’t left him, even if he had left that silly Qun. As the room fell into a hush, the first to speak was, of all people, Sera.

“So, all those old elfy people decided to join the fight then? Too bad, right? Fights over, we won, Coriffeniss is dead and gone. Sealed with all that demon crap he wanted so bad.” Sera said as she yawned wide enough to crack her jaw. Lavellan looked over at Sera with a raised eyebrow.

“I wish.” she muttered.

“How many of these...guest, will be staying with us?” Josephine asked as she entered the room with a soft click of the door.

The elf answered, “Eight hundred, perhaps more.”

“I see. Well, I will try to find room then. How long will you be staying with us?”

“That’s the best part, they aren’t leaving!” Lavellan said as she threw up her hands in sarcastic glee. Poor Josephine tapped her quill on her clipboard and then made several quick notes as she sat down on the other side of Leiana.

“My dear, please tell us what you know.” Vivienne said as she folded her hands together and rested them on her crossed knees.

Lavellan looked over at her and then nodded her head slowly, “So...like he said. Eight hundred or more people are going to be staying for...forever. Each is a unit with a general that answer to me. Because they think that I’m…”

“What?” Dorian asked, “What do these people think you are? They didn’t much like us when we first met, as I recall, and now they seem all too eager to help when their is no threat for them to fight against. So tell me, tell us, what is it that these people, the once great elves, think you are.”

Lavellan looked hurt by Dorians quick and harsh words and Vivienne shot him a schooled glare which he returned. It was Blackwall this time, who spoke reason.

“They must have their reasons and we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Let’s take this one step at a time and see where that goes.”

Cullen rubbed his neck and closed his eyes, working on keeping his temper while Sera had nodded off and had begun to snore softly. Vivienne waited as did Leiana.

“Well, I woke up last night and they were...just there. Outside my room. Abelas,” she pointed to the elf standing next to her, “was in my room. And we talked. For a long, long time. And then I got to meet the others who are in charge of the Sentinels. Other than Abelas here there are nine others.”

“So one leader for every hundred elves or so?” Bull said as he shifted in his seat.

“More or less. I guess the others are on their way.”

“From where?” Cassandra asked as she glared at the elf who had stood stone still by the Inquisitors side since they had entered.

“Abelas?”

The elf bowed his head low, more like a slave than a bodyguard, and answered, “Across the sea, and from what you humans call the Anderfels.”

“We would like to know exactly where our guest will be arriving from.” Josephine said with a polite smile on her handsome face.

Abelas gave her a very cold look in return but answered, “The Anderfels as I said, along with Rivain and an island called Seheron. Those from the island will most likely be delayed the longest since so much fighting is happening on the island already. But they will be here.”

“Seheron will kill them before they get here.” Bull gruffed.

“Unlikely.” Blackwall snorted, “I might not have been at the Temple proper, but I saw them fight. I took a whole unit of mages to kill one and five templars to kill another. Unless the Qunari want to kill them, I doubt these old elves will have any trouble getting off the island.”

“I much more interested in knowing the names of those that lead. If you please.” Leiana said and Lavellan nodded her head, counting off on her fingers and with a furrowed brow, naming what each one had, no doubt, told her that they would be doing while they stayed here.

“Tadgh, he said that he was the leader of those that would be my eyes where I couldn’t see.”

“My job?” Leiana said with a smile and a scoff.

“They sing with the old songs, clear and bright and high in their hearts. They glow like the winter sun as it sets and they play in the shadows. The names are old and dead and gone. Grief covers their names but their names give them purpose.” Cole rambled off quickly. Sera awoke with a snort.

“Please continue my dear.” Vivienne said with a wave of her hand.

“Right,” Lavellan said and put one finger back up, “After Tadgh is Grainne. She is the leader of those that will translate the old words and the new so that I will always know.”

“Oh joy, she’ll be in the library.”

“She’s like a Tranquil, Dorian.” Lavellan said soft and looked down at her hands. It was no secret that the Tranquil weighed heavily on the heart of their youngest member. She had been so happy when they had been told that their might be a cure of the Rite, but it had broken when the process was revealed to steal souls instead. An equal trade that the book said was a “necessary evil” in order to restore mages to their magic.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra sighed, “please.”

“Right. Then there’s Raisín, she is, well, she Josiephine. She was well known to the _Durgen’len_ before she went to sleep.”

“The what?” Sera asked loudly.

“Dwarves, Sera.”

“Right.”

“Niamh is like Cassandra. Or Divine whoever you are.”

“How wonderful.” Cassandra said as she leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers.

“So she is to help with religion then?” Leiana asked.

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“Who else?” Cullen sighed as the sun rose higher in the sky.

“Saoirse, he who shall teach them the ways of the sword. Mairíad, he who shall teach them magic and the dagger. Caoimhe, she who shall teach them the ways of the old and the new. A teacher for whoever wants to learn but mostly guards, like how Cullen has them set up. Eoghain is the...oldest? Face wise I mean. He is just an advisor.”

“And what of him, my dear?” Vivienne said as she looked at Abelas. Lavellan muttered under her breath. Vivienne smiled, “Speak up, darling.”

“Honor guard. Body guard. The, I will have a breathing shadow for the rest of forever, guard.”

“ _Halam’shivanas_.” Abelas said softly.

Lavellan gave a low groan and let her head fall to the table. Before it could hit the stone, Abelas caught her and gently lowered it instead. He smoothed her hair and she tried to smack it away. He moved his hand away before hers could hit him. She muttered something else in Elvhen and Abelas said nothing.

“What did you tell him?” Bull asked.

“ _Ar lasa mala revas_. It translates into common as “I give you your freedom.” Because as Solas told me before leaving, that these marks on our face, are the marks of slaves. Lies and stories we told ourselves to forget it. So since I’m now a goddess reborn, it seems like cruel irony, that I, a slave, can give other slaves their freedom but they won’t take it.”

The room fell into hushed silence.

Abelas moved his hand to place it softly on the top of her head. It glowed brightly, blinding everyone, making them shout, and they all jumped up. As Lavellan moved from her chair she could feel everyone's eyes on her. Abelas didn’t seem overly concerned with the fact that everyone wanted to kill him but she was concerned that they were watching her.

“Free and fresh skinned. Freedom willing given from her and to her and now she is whole again. Mythal reborn.” Cole whispered in awe and fear.

“What?” Cassandra snapped.

Vivienne lowered her hands, letting the magic settle in her once more and saw the young face under the marks that had once been there. The girl lifted her hands in anger and snapped at them to tell her what was wrong with them. It seemed the life here was never dull for long. Vivienne took her seat once more and waited to see how everything would play out once the Inquisitor saw her new face for herself.

“Don’t look in the mirror!” Sera said. Lavellan frowned and went to the window to gaze at her reflection. She felt her mouth gape open. Her _Vallaslin_ were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Andaran atish’an: Enter this place in peace. A formal elven greeting. Literally: "I dwell in this place, a place of peace."  
> Ar lasa mala revas: "You are (now) free." or "I give you your freedom."  
> Halam'shivanas: The sweet sacrifice of duty  
> Da: small, diminutive prefix.  
> Durgen’len: Children of the stone. The original Elvish term for the dwarves.  
> Eluvian: mirror. Literally, "seeing glass."  
> Hahren: Elder. Used as a term of respect by the Dalish, but more specifically for the leader of an alienage by the City Elves.  
> Hamin: rest, relax.  
> Vallaslin: Blood writing. The art of tattooing adopted by some elves to more prominently (and some might say belligerently) display their worship of the traditional elven pantheon.


	4. Melana en athim las enaste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come and see.” Falon’Din opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it once Fen’harel was inside the room. It was dark and something was taking desperate gasps in the room. Before Fen’harel could speak light flooded the room and Fen’harel wished for blindness. He took a step back and he ran into the door, the cold metal making him jerk away from it. Falon’Din ignored his look of horror as he spoke, “I call them Kossith. It took a long time to make them right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has read. And given me kudos!  
> Translation:  
> Melana en athim las enaste: Now let humility grant favor.

Melana en athim las enaste

The day had been cool and pleasant, the clouds casting cool shadows over the sands. The river was clear and crisp and as the servant girl walked down the ivory steps to take up a bucket of water for the cook, she could see the horizon and the endless sky beyond it. As she walked into the water, her feet curling into the soft mud below them, she lowered the ornate bucket that had been given to her to fill with the water so clear is was like a mirror. As the water rushed in she looked up as something moved under the water and towards her. A million somethings. She dropped the ornate bucket as she backed away and onto the stairs, before running as the poison frog from the forest beyond the desert sand, crawled out of the once clean water. She screamed the whole way.

In another part of the city, a man watched as he bread turned to ash and mold. Cattle and halla died with low moans before farmers eyes and a loud hissing wave of insects came from the north, descending on the city and eating everything that they could. A sick mist curled through the city as night fell, and all within prayed for the mist to leave them in peace. Prayed to the gods to stop. Their prayers went unanswered even as fire rained down from the sky. So many died screaming. And Fen’harel felt a rage twist and wither inside of him as he watched Falon’Din curse and damn the city he had set his sights on.

“Why bother?” Fen’harel snapped as Falon’Din choked the city in draught. Fire burning ash and dust and the hopeless.

“Why not? My power is in death, why not add to it quickly?”

“Because Mythal-”

“Mother isn’t here.” Falon’Din said with a chuckle, “She and father are having words at the moment. I doubt we’ll see them for a while. Besides shouldn’t you be talking to the others?”

“They have nothing to say. They want to speak to Mythal, but only if the Allfather permits it.”

“They’ll be dead before Mythal can speak to them. Father is a possessive creature. He saw mother when she was young and lovely.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to watch what happened to her?”

“NO.”

“Personally, I don’t care. Man, woman, young or old. So long as they struggle just a little bit, I enjoy it.” Falon’Din smirked as he waved away the images on the dark water he had been using as a mirror to the mortal world. Fen’harel could feel the scowl on his face deepen and did nothing to hide it.

“You have such...interesting taste.”

Falon’Din seemed to perk up at that, his jasper colored eyes seeming to glow brighter at the word choice. He had twisted his hair, a murky red color, high up upon his head keeping it in place a piece of a spine and a finger bone. He had removed all the hair on the sides of his head save from twin braids connecting to the back of his head and trailing down his back to drag across the floor. The twin braids had been tied off with leather that looked very much like flesh. He had found a small dragon skull and had removed the lower jaw and half of the back part of the skull to make a large necklace that served at a chest piece to his clothing, while a very real rib cage clung to his own ribs. He wore a robe of silver that hung loosely on him and had teeth for earrings that twisted and curled as he he turned his head to smile wickedly at his little brother. He had a ring on each finger that had magic jewels of diamond imbedded into the bronze.

“Would like to see something amazing?”

“Not really. But the others would most likely enjoy hearing about what the second son of the Allfather is getting up to in his spare time.” Fen’harel said as he pushed his body away from the cold pillars he had been leaning against when he had come to visit.

Falon’Din gave a dark laugh, “I am the twin of my brother, Fen’harel. We are the same.”

“And yet he took a breath first.”

Falon’Din moved quickly and wrapped his hands around the fluttering heart and throat of his little brother, giving a low hiss of displeasure even as Fen’harel smirked at him. Jasper eyes glared into grey-green, tan skin clashing with lilly white, the glow of lyrium dancing between the spaces where their bodies did not touch. Falon’Din slowly removed his hands from inside of brother, but traced a small trail of blood down his cheek, following the trail a tear would take and squeezed tightly on his throat for a few moments before stepping away. He licked the blood from his hand and Fen’harel rubbed the space where his heart still beat. He lowered his eyes as he brother pat his cheek harshly before giving the same cheek a light slap. Mythal had smoothed the ruffled feathers between the Allfather and his favored sons only a few weeks prior. He would not cause trouble again so soon.

“Follow me.”

And so he did. They walked down into a damp darkness that smelled of over ripe flowers and held little light. Falon’Din hummed lightly under his breath, jumping down the last step to look back up at Fen’harel, showing off his teeth—he had filed them down into points—and made a grand show of gesturing to a door made of copper. It was locked tightly.

“What is in that room?”

“Come and see.” Falon’Din opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it once Fen’harel was inside the room. It was dark and something was taking desperate gasps in the room. Before Fen’harel could speak light flooded the room and Fen’harel wished for blindness. He took a step back and he ran into the door, the cold metal making him jerk away from it. Falon’Din ignored his look of horror as he spoke, “I call them Kossith. It took a long time to make them right.”

The trail of blood on Fen'harel was nothing compared to the torture that this poor elf(or where there more? He could not tell as the poor creature tried to moved away from them) had had to endure. He prayed that Mythal would never have to see these creatures. He knew he would have to tell the others as well. They had held up their end of their promise, and he would ensure that his “family” kept up theirs.

****************

Cassandra wanted to kill something. If only so it would make her feel better. Lavellan had gotten so angry that she had punched Abelas right in the face and screamed at him in Elvhen for a few hours—and he didn’t even try to stop her small fist from hitting him or raising his voice in explanation. He had simply let her hit and scream and rage at him— before storming away to hide. Abelas had slunk off like a shadow to another part of the castle. Cole had followed Lavellan and now the meeting room was full of angry words and angry people. She calmed her mind. She was to become Divine, and she had been chosen for a reason.

She was to soon be a holy leader and her anger could not be her guide.

“All of you need to shut up!” she yelled and the room fell silent. She would use instead to gain attention in a noisy room. She sat down in her chair and rubbed her head. They needed to speak to one another like adults, “We need to speak. Calmly. So everyone, sit down and let us speak as adults, not children.” With a few curse words and angry mumbles they all sat down once more in their seats.

“We should get rid of ‘em, yeah? Less elfy people, less problems. Less angry elf that we all like.” Sera said as she slumped down in her chair, blowing her bangs away from her eyes.

“None of you are looking at this on a bigger scale.” Vivienne said as she lifted her chin with a click of distaste as she fixed her sleeves.

“Other than the fact that a man who is very much too old for Lavellan never seems to stop touching her?” Blackwell snapped.

“Lady Vivienne is right.” Leliana said.

“How?” Sera yelled as she slammed her hands on the table.

“The Chantry, for one thing, the rest of the world, for another. The Empress and King Alistair. The Elvhen community who are not Dalish, the mages that Lavellan choose to support. Her claim to Skyhold, her army, the palms we did and didn’t grease to ease the way. The people who she spared instead of killed. Where to even begin?” Cullen sighed.

“Cassy is the Chantry.”

“I am to become Divine. Because Lavellan supported my claim along with Leliana and Lady Vivienne. Should they catch wind of this, they will not only question the support but they may also withdraw my name and choose another.”

“One from outside of our sphere of influence, I assume?” Dorian sighed as he rubbed the space between his eyebrows with his thumb.

“We should ask how much of this, is in fact, true.” Josephine said as she took notes like a woman possessed.

Leliana seemed to be one step ahead, “We should ask, what happened to the first Mythal?”

“She died. That’s what “reborn” means, you gotta die first to get born again.” Sera said.

“I think our spymaster mean, if this Mythal was a god, and gods are hard to kill, what killed her in the first place?” Blackwall said.

“Or who.” Bull said.

“Does anyone know about Elvhen gods and their history?” Cullen asked.

“Solas would know” Cassandra said.

“He isn’t here. Who else?”

Vivienne gave a long suffering sigh, “I shall swallow my pride this one time. That...woman that is the leader of the mages now loyal to the Inquisition knows. Her grandmother was Dalish and knew the old stories. She knows them as well. Ask her.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, Madame.” Josephine said with a bow of her head.

“The Chantry will burn her alive.” Dorian said as he rubbed at his mouth, “They will take this as a slap in the face and they will paint her as a villain before the poor thing even has time to open her mouth in protest.”

“Morrigan, before leaving us, did leave a report. Her mother is Mythal.” Leliana said.

“I read that report, Red,” Bull said as he shifted to sit at his full height in the chair, “Morrigan reported that Flemeth said that she carried a wisp of Mythal within her, which is what might have caused her to have such a long lifespan.”

“A wisp is nothing but a small fragment of something much larger.” Dorian said.

“And according to the book that the Seekers of Truth have, souls can in fact be broken in fragments. Which means that if Mythal died, she might have sent fragments of her soul to the mortal plain to ensure her survival before her death.” Vivienne tapped a well manicured nail on the table before shaking her head.

“And if she did die,” Cassandra said “and did as we are speculating, then she knew she was going to die.”

“She was murdered then. No one knows when death is coming for them.” Leliana spoke softly as she stood, “For now, we need more information than we have. Lavellan is no place to shed light on her gods and if the former grand enchanter can give us even the most basic of information then we can proceed. For now, we will watch our new guest very closely. And keep this to our inner circle.”

“Agreed.” Cassandra said as she popped her back standing. The rest rose as well, the air not yet cleared but less tense. As Dorian helped Bull back to their room he could feel his mind twisting and turning. He and Lavellan had often spoken about their homes when she came to him in the middle of the night seeking the comfort of a friend. He had wondered, when he had first met her why she had looked so familiar to him. He had chalked it up to her having one of those faces that everyone had seen and forgot about without meaning too.

As he settles Bull on the bed and props his broken leg up he remembers. Dorian remembers, in a vague way, seeing Mythal before Lavellan had dragged him and Solas and Bull(damn that man) to her shrine. He remembers only three things about the old Elvhen deco painting in the Circle he had trained at. One was that it was a true work of art done in such wonderful colors and with so much detail that, had he been a lover of the arts he might have wept. Two, he was a teenager who was about to get his first blowjob so whatever. And three was that looking back on it, Mythal looked so much like his dear Lavellan. So much so that he wondered if all of this did, in fact, NOT happen by random accident.

“What’s up, kadan?”

“Do you ever feel like life is trying to fuck you over?”

“Only when we do shit with the boss.”

Dorian gave an aggravated noise and he flopped back on the bed, his head landing a few inches away from Bull’s stomach. He moved to cuddle with the larger man who ran a soothing hand over his back and Dorian closed his eyes. The room was warm from the fire that had died since they had been gone. Lavellan had helped him patch the roof when Bull and his boys had gone to the Wounded Coast on a job. Sera had helped for a while before running off to prank people. It wasn’t anything to gasp and fawn over, but it had held up against winter snow and early showers that had created hail. He sat up in the bed and Bull let him, keeping his hand running down his back in soothing circles.

“I think...I think I know why these elves think about her as Mythal.” Dorian said.

“Hmm?”

“I was young, maybe, a year or two younger than Lavellan is now. A boy I knew, that was like me, had found a nice spot for us to...explore without being caught. It was under the oldest part of the Circle. The Elvhen gods were painted on the walls, much like how Solas did the paintings in the alcove.”

“You saw the boss?”

“More or less. If she was older, perhaps.”

“Dorian…”

Dorian stood up and began to pace the room, “I didn’t even think about the painting, Bull. I looked at it and forgot about it because I didn’t care. But now, looking back. That was Lavellan. It is her, in a few more years. She was on that wall. She had white hair and golden eyes, but she was on that wall.”

“So, what, Flemeth isn’t her?”

“No, she is nothing but the last fragment of an old god that has been reborn anew.”

“Bullshit.”

“How else do you explain this then?”

“Easy.”

Dorian gave a chuckle without mirth, “Bull, there was list of names for the conclave. Mages and Templars and nobles and people who had been through more than her where there. But only her, a little girl with no world experience, survived a blast that leveled a mountain? She walked in the Fade, not once but twice and lived. She can seal rifts. I read the medical notes. That mark should have killed her the moment she got it.”

“The boss is strong.”

“She is a child. She ran away from home, after stealing her father's armor and lying about her age to gain entrance to the talks. She learned to fight while the world was ending, amatus. Looking back on it, all of it, none of this was an accident.” Dorian said as he took a seat on the edge of the bed once more. Bull pulled him into his lap and hugged him close.

“Dorian, kadan, if this is real, if they are telling the truth, then Lavellan will be devastated.”

“I know. She already lost her clan while she was playing hero with us. To have to live while we die before her eyes? To grow old? We would accept it, our lot in life to die in the blink of a god's eye. Lavellan? Dear Maker she would never stop weeping over us.”

**********

Cullen sighed as he came down from his high, breathing in his lovers scent. He rolled over, draggin Krem with him to cling to him as they caught their breath. Krem had taken the news with a calm head. He had said that it hadn’t surprised him in the slightest.

“Her worship always felt...off to me, amatus. Like I was looking at one of those holy drawings.”

That had been a few hours ago and after a rounds of sex his mind was clear and his body relaxed. Krem turned around and tugged a curl of golden hair away from his damp forehead and began to twist around those sinful fingers. Cullen kissed Krem soundly and closed his eyes. Krem gave a gasp and Cullen shot up as Cole twisted his shirt in his hands. He looked so afraid.

“What is, Cole?” Cullen asked.

Cole shook his head, shaking in fear.

“Spit it out. What’s wrong?” Krem asked he he stood and tugged a shirt on to cover his nakedness from the spirit boy.

Cole looked at them with watery eyes, “She’s gone.”

 

 


	5. Who am I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “History does not set us free from who we are suppose to be, Lavellan. It reveals to us that the future we set out for is not the one that we will end up in. The past, however long ago the past is or will become, was once the future. But once the future has come and gone, you can not change it. You were once Mythal and now you are Lavellan, that is all you and I understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again for those that have read this. I might be busy for a few days so I'm posting another chapter. I hope you all enjoy this. Again, thank you again.

The Temple of Pride was still shut when she walked up the steps to the door. The shards were in her pocket, the foci orb in her pack and her father's armor hit her better than it had when she had first met Cassandra. She had used the Eluvian and had found herself spit out in the place she had been trying to go to. She had dodged Leliana's spies and Cullens footmen as she made her way to the temple. She had pulled the scarf from around her neck to drape it over her head and hide her naked face. She had been so proud when she had gotten her Vallaslin. She had chosen Mythal in honor of her father, not because the goddess had spoke to her. And now, well, who was she now?

Flemeth had claimed the role of Mythal but she had heard Dorian and the others from where she had been outside of the door. A fragment was not the real thing. Cole had tried to comfort her but she had pushed him away. Instead she had thought about what this meant for everyone and all of her friends. She was going to lose them. She couldn’t lose anymore people she cared about. Behind her, Abelas waited, decked out in the same armor he had worn when they had first met, and the broken nose she had given him in the early hours of the day healed.

She pushed the shards into place and each one made a tiny sigh as it settled into the rock and became one with it once again. The door to the temple opened with a soft rush of air into the night and the darkness within seemed to reach for her. Abelas went forward and veil fire sprang from his hand and floated to the brazier on the other end of a long hallway, jumping from one to another until the inner temple was well lit. She entered the temple and shut the door behind her so that no one could see the light. She grabbed on the torches from the wall and looked left and right. Two paths, the same temple. She went down the left set of stairs, lighting each torch as it came to her in the dark.

“Mythal-”

“No. You can’t call me that. That’s not my name.”

“I understand, ma da’hahren.”

“Lavellan. My clan name is Lavellan. Everyone calls me that. Please...I’m not...can’t you see? I’m not her. Mythal is...nevermind.”

More locked doors greeted them but opened as each shard was placed back into its original slot. The rooms were empty, save for dust and the dead. The air was thick with the must of disuse. Inside the last room was a broken Eluvian, the once golden frame twisted from age and blackened at the edges where some shards of the mirror still clung to the metal. She had no more shards and no more doors. And now, no answers either. She sat down in front of the mirror and took out the once broken foci that had marked her. Abelas waited in silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why me?”

Abelas looked at the girl who had been reborn as the goddess he had pledged his whole existence to, say the youth in her and the fear and how the world was crushing her. He had seen the horror and anger in her eyes when she had seen her face without the slave markings. She had found him and told him that she was going to find the dread wolf once more. He sat down next to her and gazed at the wall that had once been covered by the mirrors she had made. Mythal had also favored Fen’harel for reason even he did not understand. He took the foci from her limp hands and looked it over. It wasn’t hers, it was his.

Her foci were broken and lost all over the world.

“Lavellan, I don’t have the answers you seek. I only know that my soul, my magic, my immortal life, is tied to the soul of Mythal. When I saw you and we spoke, I meant what I said. You are not my people. A master can not be a slave.”

“I don’t want slaves. I want normal problems. I want to be who I suppose to be.” Lavellan said as she pulled her knees to her chest and hid her face in space she had created. Abelas longed to touch her and sooth her fears. But this time looked down upon that. He was not allowed to touch her while she was still young unless she allowed him to. She was Mythal, his body was hers to with as she saw fit. Instead, he offered her what he could.

“History does not set us free from who we are suppose to be, Lavellan. It reveals to us that the future we set out for is not the one that we will end up in. The past, however long ago the past is or will become, was once the future. But once the future has come and gone, you can not change it. You were once Mythal and now you are Lavellan, that is all you and I understand.”

“I thought gods knew everything.”

“No. They only know what they need to know to make sure that they can continue to live. Mythal saw fit to trick the dread wolf before he sealed away his kin. And now you are back.”

Lavellan was silent and Abelas said nothing else. They stayed that way for a long time. Lavellan had been tense and silent and slowly she had fallen asleep while Abelas had stood watch over her. He put the foci back into her pack and picked her up, letting her head rest on his broad shoulder as he took her out of the temple that had once belonged to Fen'harel. He would send Tadgh a message to fix the mirror for Lavellan. As he stepped out of the temple he blew a huff of air back into the temple and the fires died on the wind he had created. One of her camps was not far from the temple, he had seen as they snuck in the shadows around the shems, and he began to move toward it when he heard the soft crunch of a boot on rock.

He drew his dagger and placed Lavellan into one arm. He spun softly but quickly and then growled low in his throat when he saw who  it was.

***************

“I do not see how this...thing, could warrant such anger from you, Mythal.” Ghilan'nain rubbed her arms to ward off the damp of the room in which Falon’Din often entertained his family. Her golden hair was parted down the middle, with one side cut short enough to cup under her chin and frame her face, while the other side was left long and loose with brightly colored strings woven into the tiny braids. Her amethyst colored eyes gazed down at the...Kossith that Falon’Din had made. She wore a sheer dress of white silk with thicker silk underclothes that stood out on her peach colored skin. Her multicolored bangles whispered soft music as her arms moved. She had large silver baubles in her ears.

June, sweet June, glared at his sister by marriage, his blue eyes turning icy, “This is wrong. They were once living servants. And now they are...whatever they are now.” His head was bald and angry scars crossed over his face, marring the dark brown of his skin. He wore cloth clothing and had his bow slung over his back, the iron bark glowing with enchantment in the dimly lit room. Sylaise was covered in dawnstone and rubies, her mocha skin and green eyes making the color stand out. She twisted her red hair in her hands, pulling strands from her intricate braid.

She would not look at what was only known as Kossith. Her voice fluttered in fear like a bird as she spoke, “It might be a mercy to kill it. But not to...Mythal even you can see that dear brother Falon’Din is sorry for what he has done. I’m sure this is the only one.”

Mythal glared at them all and none of them would meet her eyes, burning golden in the darkness. Falon’Din gave wheezing gasps as her magic twisted and turned inside of him. The Kossith was all but dead to the world. It would not look at her or speak. Her anger was reaching a breaking point and even her hair had begun to glow with her magic. The air charged with her hate. Fen’harel had told her what Falon’Din had done and had gone off to inform the others who had been deemed “forgotten” by the Allfather.

Forgotten because they were not his children but hers. The children of Mythal not Elgar'nan.

“I. Do. Not. Care. I. Am. Justice. This,” she pointed to Falon’Din as he withered on the floor, gasping and curling into a ball as the pain continued, unrelenting, “is justice.”

Andruil sharpened her daggers as she listened, her sandy colored skin and auburn hair made soft by the dim light where it was normally harsh. Her leather armor was worn but well used. She stopped as Falon’Din gave a low gurgle and a thick milky froth spilled from his mouth. She watched him for a moment and then moved to kneel down and look him in the eye. He reached for her and she gave him a kind smile before digging her dagger into his hand and twisting. He gave another low moan of pain. Mythal gave a roar and threw Andruil away from Falon’Din, her back hitting the wall with a sick crack and a yelp of pain.

Dirthamen laughed loudly and then shut his mouth when Mythal turned her glare to him. His red eyes glowed with mirth, long since healed from where Fen’harel had torn one of them out. The only difference between the brothers who looked so much alike. Elgar'nan chose that moment to enter the room. Black hair held back by his golden crown of thorns, his black eyes colder than a winter's night. Skin as translucent as ice. Mythal walked over with quick steps and slapped Elgar'nan.

He gave a low noise in his throat and turned to look at her. He backhanded her into the wall and the spell on Falon’Din faded. He gave a low gasp as the pain faded and his twin helped him up. Mythal climbed to her feet and wiped the blood from her nose. She pointed to the Kossith and Elgar'nan turned his uncaring gaze toward it. He turned to Falon’Din.

“This was your doing?”

“Yes, father. I made it. I worked for years on it and now it is almost ready.” Falon’Din whispered, his head bowed.

“Look at the horrors your son has committed.” Mythal hissed.

“I am,” Elgar'nan said and turned a smirk to Mythal as he walked toward her and gripping her chin in his grip, the iron pointed tips of his gauntlets digging into her skin, causing the skin to pucker and then break open, blood spilling over the iron. His other hand reached up and gripped her hair near her scalp pulling her up, causing her to stand on her tiptoes, “and I have never been more proud of my son.”

Mythal spit a wad of blood into Elgar'nan eye causing him to drop her to her knees where she looked up at them, “One who knows nothing can understand nothing.”

****************

Leliana drummed her fingers on the table as she read over the reports. Lavellan had been missing for the better part of a fortnight and no one had seen her. Her immortal elves had been asked about her whereabouts and they had only responded with stony silence. Sera had asked, after many hours of arguments, and even she had not been told. The only good news was that Cassandra had officially become Divine and had moved out of the Orlesian capital to stay at Skyhold. Fionna had proven to know enough about the Elvhen Pantheon that now the inner circle was not as much in the dark as it had been when this disaster had struck. Leliana could see the cracks in the story, see how the elves had painted their gods with roses instead of seeing them for what they might—  or might not have—  been.

Cullen had sent out so many men to look, even going himself whenever Cassandra didn’t need him to ward nosy holy mothers away. Krem and the Chargers had taken to being spies while Bull recovered from his broken leg. Dorian had begun to research at all hours, to see if he could find a grain of truth to the whole story. Vivienne had been called back to court in order to help restore the Circle of Magi— but they both knew better— but Vivienne had coated her letters with information, hidden with the words. The Empress was no fool. She had heard a small rumble and was now keeping an eye on them. They needed to find Lavellan.

As the sun began to peak over to mountains Leliana wandered into the garden as she thought of what to do when a flash of light came from behind a door. The door that the Eluvian was behind. She flung the door open and Lavellan had the good grace to look ashamed. Abelas stood next to her, his face blank. Leliana rushed forward and hugged Lavellan to her chest tightly. Lavellan hugged her back, her hands so much thinner than she had left. Leliana pulled back and gazed at Lavellan for the first time in almost two weeks. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair was a little longer, a little thinner.

“Where did you go?”

“I went to the Fade. Again.”

“Oh no.” Leliana breathed, “Are you hurt?”

Lavellan shook her head and moved Lelianas hands away from her shoulders and began to walk out into the garden, Abelas following a few steps behind her. She seemed so tired. Leliana had seen this before. When the Hero of Ferelden had been alive, before she had left them. She had lived and killed the Archdemon, but she was so tired afterwards.  Leliana held her tongue and watched her leave and make her way back to— what Leliana hoped— was her room.

She informed the inner circle when they all arrived but kept them away from the poor thing. Whatever had happened it had taken its toll on her. For a few days, only Cole, Dorian and Varric were allowed up. Then she came to the meeting room, still tired and still so young. She smiled at them and before Cullen or Cassandra could begin their rant she stepped aside and Solas stepped into the room. He was different. Something had changed.

“May I introduce, Fen’harel, the dread wolf.” Lavellan said, “But you can call him Solas.”

“Well fuck.” Bull sighed.

 

 


	6. The only way to the point of view of a good man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No!” Dorian said as he turned her around to face quickly and shook her a little as he spoke, “You don’t get to decide that you’re going to die and leave everyone you love to suffer because of the hole you leave! You don’t get to be a terribly good person and then take one final bow with more grace than most of us would have the right to even demand! You have to be selfish this one time! Please...please, just be selfish this once and let me help you. Do you hear me, are you even listening to me? I won’t let you die on me Felix!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am going to make my apologizes here. In advance. This chapter, things get heavy. So, if any of these things make you uncomfortable or you do not like reading about these things then please skip this chapter, I won't be offended. That being said, this chapter discusses abortion, underage sex, sexual slavery, difference of religion and race and also deals with the death of a loved one. As I stated before, this chapter is heavy and I will take no offense if you choose to skip it until the next chapter comes out. Also, my work messed up my schedule and I have the next few days off so, be prepared for chapters my little weirdos. Please enjoy.

The only way to the point of view of a good man

Solas had not planned on being back so soon after leaving. He had thought that it would some time before he would be able to come back to Skyhold. Much had changed in a very small amount of time. A few members had left due to outside influence while others had managed to stay because they either had enough pull to prolong their stay or had simply decided to settle in the place that they had defended. He doubted that the Qunari would leave without Dorian, and Dorian wouldn't leave until he knew that Lavellan was going to be in capable hands, and Varric was a wanderer at heart, he was more than content to settle down roots that he could pull away at a moments notice. The Sentinels though, they were convinced that this their new home and didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon. Dorian had been the first to welcome him back with a harsh word and a harsh spell around his lungs before digging his fist in the boney part of his jaw.

Dorian had a meaner left hook than Solas would have thought he did.

Many of the others had been content with a quick jab to his face and nothing else. It had been better than icy silence that Lavellan had been subjecting him to since finding each other in the Fade. Flemeth had been willing enough to part with the fragment of Mythal she had in exchange for a service done after her death. If her daughter would even agree to the terms that had been asked and Flemeth had told them outright that so long as they tried she would be content. His old room and alcove hadn’t been touched in his absence. He touched the painting above his balcony door and wondered if he should have changed the color of the armor. Mythal had never worn gold as he could recall but he hadn't always been with her and in her final moments she might have been wearing that gold armor that his brother— the brother she had born not the any of the ones that the Allfather had sired— had asked him to smuggle to her lest he draw the ire of the man that they all hated.

"Abelas. To what do I owe the pleasure of your attentions so late at night?" Solas said as he gently moved a searching branch of wild flowers up and away from the painting he had spent weeks on. He had used soft spring colors for the background and harsher tones of red for the foreground. The golden armor and silver halo bringing a harsh light to the face. Mythal had never cired, at least in front of him, she had been a warrior and a mage of no small talent. The cold look on her face wasn’t even close to the real thing.

But it spoke its displeasure nonetheless.

The Sentinel watched him from the sitting room couch, the fire long since dead in the hearth. The waning crescent moon did little to illuminate the scene but they did not need much light to see to begin with. He was dressed down, a dagger of bloodstone and iron on his hip and the golden collar of a slave around his neck. Lavellan had been trying to remove it for a few days but with little luck. He did not have the heart to tell her that the collar had to be taken off by the same hands that had put it on, and Abelas seemed perfectly happy with its place around his neck. Abelas was lying by omission and had removed the slave marks from her face. He had been told that she had struck him for that and he wondered how badly she would injure him when she found out why he stayed so close to her.

"I come to see the traitor without my masters sweet words and soft hands to temper my blade. I come to see The Dread Wolf in all his glory. But all I see before me is an old dog with loose teeth and a coward's heart beating in his chest."

Solas  nodded his head as he leaned against the ivy covered railing of the balcony, the cool marble and damp plants digging into his lower spine. Spring had warned everything and summer was now fast approaching the mountain fortress. The world was awaking with new life. Lavellan had only been dimly aware of her first summer away from home, most it spent in the cold marsh filled with the dead or being buried alive under a mountain of snow and trying to find her people once again. She was and at the same time as wasn't who everyone thought that she was. Perhaps some clarification was in order. He walked into the room, closed the double paned glass doors of the balcony, drew the curtains and he flicked his wrist to cast a fire back into the fireplace and warm the room.

"An old dog? Well, it’s not a lie, but...we both know that it isn’t really true either. But I don’t think that’s why you came here, is it? You seem to be under some mistaken impression about Lavellan and myself. Allow me to correct you."

"Do not speak of her so lightly!" Abelas hissed as he stood. They were the same height, and while his green-golden eyes had an admittedly stunning effect of anyone who was caught in their path, it did little to cow Solas. He had been glared at by gods and even then he had not flinched away from their gaze. Solas met his gaze head on and moved to take out a bottle of wine from the back room, only breaking eye contact when the door seperated their heated unspoken battle. Abelas let him. Solas came back with two glasses and a red wine that he had found to be agreeable to his palate.

"Tell me, are you one of the chosen to be a bed mate to her when she demands it?" Solas asked as he took a seat and poured the wine, gesturing to the chair opposite him. Abelas sat with a stiff back and even stiffer rumble of thanks for the wine.

"Yes. I was chosen not long after I put my collar on. I...volunteered for the honor."

"Did she ever use you? Any of you? No...no." Solas chucked and then took a deep breath of the wine before placing the glass back down, "That's what bothers you so much, isn't it? When she was Mythal she never used you like that. A warrior and a mage and a Sential, but never a bed mate; not like how the other gods would use theirs; I’m sure that those bed mates loved to brag as well and you, oh, it must have stung to know that you could never one up any of them because she never even bothered to glance in your direction. Then you saw her, new and naïve, and you thought that this time might be different, but it's not."

"Yes it is."

"How? Please, enlighten me on how this different. Because as far as I can see, the only difference to be seen is her age. If you were not her favorite when she was an immortal in the beyond then why would she make you her favorite when her feet have only left this mortal coil a few times in her short life? What is it that you find so compelling about Lavellan that you would still wear a collar of slavery?"

Abelas grit his teeth, "She is-"

"No. I didn't ask you what you think you want her to be. She is Mythal reborn but she is her own person with her own thoughts and personality. So tell me what is about her that you find so compelling beyond the fact that she is your patron."

Abelas drained his glass of wine in one go and looked at the table in front of him. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind, and failed, "You may be an old dog but I see I was wrong about your teeth. But you’re heart...I am please to know that I was right about that much, at least. I will take my leave."

"Abelas," Solas said as Abelas stood and turns toward the door, "you should think deeply about this before going back to her. You may have suffered her silence for years but that was because she was dead and her soul torn apart. I promise you, that if you lose her trust while she still draws breath, you will know true suffering."

"You speak from experience?"

"I am. Once when I was young and now again when I am an old dog with loose teeth. This time though, I think she will speak to me again before anything else that will turn the world on its head happens again. Good night."

Abelas only gave a quick nod of his head and was gone.

**********

“You know that hiding under ones bed does accomplish very little. Besides the fact that the floor must be slowly killing you, I am incredibly bored without my favorite person to bother me at the most inopportune times.”

Lavellan pulled her blanket closer to her, dragging it further under her bed, which had been stripped of its sheets, blankets and pillows and all of it had been transferred to the small space under the four poster Antivan eyesore she called a bed. Dorian could understand why. The space under the bed was small, but could house her slighter frame quite comfortably. Her unwanted guests on the other hand, would have to lift the bed up off the floor to get to her or they would have to try and fit under the bed proper. If they used their magic it would cause so much noise that one of them was bound to come running. Not that Dorian did much now save keep a close eye on the elves. They all reminded him of the slaves back home, right down to the ugly gold collars.

He had seen the bow low at the waist, fall to their knees as though they expected to be hit. Lavellan had looked so heartbroken when one of them had asked to be “corrected” for back talking to her. It was like they didn’t know that she just asked question after question without pausing for breath. She wasn’t like the Magisters in the Imperium. She did not ask trick questions in order to watch them try and suffer knowing that no matter what was said their answers were never good enough or correct. Even when they were. He had met a few who, while soft spoken and cautious around him, seemed pleasant enough.

Even the ones who had managed to get off of Seheron and find their way to Skyhold. Bull had cursed up a storm while Krem had chuckled behind his mug of ale. Abelas had still been her shadow, even now. He stood at the balcony doors, arms crossed behind his back, watching. His...affectionate touching had toned down in the past few days but he still reached for her and then would halt himself as though finally understand that his touch was not appropriate between them. Even Blackwall had understood that when a lady of high standing was available, it was her choice on if she would entertain his fancy and accept his gifts. Maker, Blackwall had even beaten Josephine’s pre-arranged fiance in order to win her affection. She had yelled at him, of course, but he had told them all that he had done because he loved her and he would not stand by and watch as she chained herself to a man she didn’t know in order to help her family.

She should have been free to choose for herself.

Lavellan had helped Josephine in the past in order to win back standing for Josephine’s family name, and thus she hadn’t need to marry her fiance, but she was going to anyway in order to honor her family. Blackwall had freed her and now they were an item. Lavellan had giggled like mad when she had caught them kissing and Dorian hadn’t helped their blushing faces when he made comments at them. Blackwall had a quick word to defend his ladys honor but always took the jokes towards him a huff of good intentions. She had been so happy when Blackwall had asked them to help him pick out a ring worthy of his lady love. Lavellan had let Vivienne and him torment the poor man before Josephine had caught wind of his plan and had asked for a simple band instead of something grand. Lavellan had trumped them both when she had given Blackwall the schematics for a simple ring of protection.

Josephine liked to play with it when her mind wandered and Blackwall kept its twin tucked safely away on a chain and hidden under his shirt. Bull had given him a dragon's tooth and he wore it around his waist since it was just a little too big to hang from his neck. It had almost dragged him down to the floor when Bull had first given it to him. Bull wore his proudly and liked to kiss him breathless in public, covering the eyes of anyone who was right there. Lavellan had been under his hand a few times out on the battle field. She had always given a huff but had let his hand linger until Dorian had always broken the kiss off. He had been so happy since coming here, and now...Lavellan wasn’t happy anymore.

Dorian shut his book and went to the bed, flopping down on his stomach and hanging over the edge to look at Lavellan who had her eyes closed and only opened them when he stared at her a while. She pulled her blanket over her head and Dorian reached out with thin fingers to tug at it softly. She swatted at him with her smaller hand and he swatted back. They play slapped for a while before Lavellan gave a snort that burst into a giggle and she pulled the blanket down to smile at him. She crawled out from under the bed enough that they were eye to eye instead of his hair brushing the floor and his neck straining to look at her. She lifted her hand a poked his nose. They both let out a snort of laughter.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been so…” she wiggled her fingers in an attempt to make him understand how she felt since she couldn’t find a word to it.

“It’s alright. I’m sure I was much more of an ass when...when Felix died.”

“Alexius seems less depressed now than when I sentenced him.”

“Yes. He still mourns Felix, I admit, I still do as well. The dead hurt us more than the living.”

Lavellan gave a low hum of agreement. She sighed and pulled herself onto her bed, the blanket trailing like a cape as she sprawled over his back. He twisted down on the bed until he he rest his head and his feet hung off into space. She moved her body up and then back down as he moved be comfortable. She played with his hair and he closed his eyes. The room was warm from the sunlight, the breeze bring with it the smell of fresh mountain air and impending rain. He was almost asleep when Lavellan moved off of him and sat crossed legged.

“Dorian...what do you remember about your mom? Or your home where you grew up?”

“Mother? What and odd question.”

“I’m forgetting my mama, Dorian. And my dad. My big brother and sister. My aunt and her children. My clan, before they were killed by Red Templars and Venatori. Things that I’ve done. Like...like that fancy little cafe we found that had those little coco bread sticks that Bull and I love so much. I forgot where it was.”

“We went to it not that long ago. Surely you-”

“Dorian. I am remembering my past life and my current life at the same time. Mixed in with those voices from the well I drank from, it’s....there’s a party in my head and I don’t know how to make them leave so I can be alone.”

Dorian sat up and tugged her into a fierce hug, planting a kiss on her temple, “We’ll fix this. We have faced much worse than some...funny memories in your head. I swear to you, Lavellan, you’re going to be ok.”

“Dorian-”

“No!” Dorian said as he turned her around to face quickly and shook her a little as he spoke, “You don’t get to decide that you’re going to die and leave everyone you love to suffer because of the hole you leave! You don’t get to be a terribly good person and then take one final bow with more grace than most of us would have the right to even demand! You have to be selfish this one time! Please...please, just be selfish this once and let me help you. Do you hear me, are you even listening to me? I won’t let you die on me Felix!”

The silence was thicker than blood. Dorian let her go and bowed his head. Lavellan hugged him to her chest, letting his head rest in the hollow of her throat. Dorian hugged her to him just as tightly. Lavellan rubbed his back for a moment and rested her cheek on the back of his head, his soft hair tickling her nose. She wiggled her nose away from the strands. As Dorian let out a soft noise of sadness, Lavellan hugged him closer and clenched her eyes shut as she felt the wetness soak into her clothing. Abelas turned his back to them and watched as the clouds that had been heavy with rain, float away to weep elsewhere.

*******

Krem sighed as he counted the days between his last unwanted blood and the fact that he...wasn’t bleeding now. Dalish and Skinner had both made lewd comments on the fact and Grim had shut them up quickly enough with a well placed burp of ale in their faces. It had started a fight that the Chief broke up with a roar as he gathered them all up and swung them around. His cast had finally come off and his knee had somehow improved. It still needed the brace but it had been better then it was before. The mood changed though as the Chief took away the mug of ale and gave him a strong tea instead when they had retreated to sit out on the battlements and watch the stars. Krem knew this smell and this type of tea. He had drunk it before but before it had been...different.

Cullen was different.

The Chief just drank the ale that he was going to and the hot mug in his hands seemed to be screaming at him even though the night was pleasant. He didn’t want to fling it away but he didn’t want to keep holding it either. He set down to space between them instead.

“Does he know?”

“No. I wasn’t sure myself but if you’re giving me Moon Tear tea...well, thanks Chief.”

Bull took a another sip of ale and tossed the wooden mug toward the door that would lead back to the tavern. It rolled away with a sharp noise.

“Look...I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. But you and Cullen? I’ve seen the calf eye he gives you when you’re not looking. He looks at you like how those crazy elves have been looking at the boss. Because let’s be honest here, Krem, I don’t think any of us saw this coming.”

“I can’t say that I was too surprised by the news at all Chief. Whenever her worship talked to me she alwasy gave off this air of...I dunna know, something was off. Maybe it was the fact that I lived around snobby mages my whole life before running off or maybe it was just some deep rooted survival thing, but when I looked at her I wanted to look away. My pride wouldn’t let me.”

“And now your pride is in the way again.”

Krem hit Bull in the arm and he lifted his hands in mock surrender, “Cullen doesn’t need me telling him this on top of everything else.”

“But you love him?” Krem glared at the sky instead of answering. Bull rolled his eye, “Look, to be fair, Cullen has a small right to know. In the end though it's your body and you have the final say in what happens. Cullen should be informed of his impending fatherhood. But both of you should speak like adults and figure your shit out.”

“I know. I just...we were so careful.”

“Well, you know what they say about those dog lords and pretty boys.”

Krem gave a high snorting laugh and pushed Bull, “Fuck off.”

“Once Dorian gets back. I found this nice leather choker-”

“And now I’m leaving. Good night.” Krem said as he stood up, taking the tea with him and beating a hasty retreat. Bull shook his head and wandered back to his room. Krem went to find Cullen and was pleased to find him in his room reading reports but dressed down and relaxed. Krem sat down on the bed and placed the mug of tea on the bedside table. Cullen smiled at him and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

Krem loved these kinds of kisses. If he died now, being kissed and held like this, he would die a happy man. Cullen put down his reports and pinned Krem to the bed, kissing down his jaw and sucking on his neck. Krem held Cullen close and wished that there was an easier way to tell him. But Krem had never shied away from tough choices before and he wouldn’t do it now. He took a deep breath, pulled Cullen away from his neck and kissed him with all the love he had for this funny former Templar. He hoped Cullen could feel it down into his very soul.

“Maker bless me but you are a wonder.” Cullen breathed as they broke apart.

Krem kissed him once more and held Cullen still when he spoke, “We need to talk, Cullen.”

“About what love?”

“I’m late. I’m very, very, late.”

“Late for wha-oh. Maker's breath. Then that mug?” Cullen turned to look at the mug and the tea hidden inside of it. He sat up and pulled Krem with him. He looked at the mug for a long time and then at Krem. He swiped his thumb loving under Krem’s left eye and pulled him close for a chaste kiss, “Tell me what you want to do, love. I’ll support you, I swear. This...nothing has change unless you want it to change.”

“You...you’re serious?”

“Of course I am. I love you, you wonderful, stupid, man. The body be damned, I love you no matter what you do or how you look. Man or woman. The Maker himself blessed me thrice ever since I laid eyes on you.”

“You soft sap.”

“But at least I’m yours.”

“I know.”

“I love, Krem.”

“I love you more, Cullen.”

 

 


	7. When she loved me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tadgh gave a loud noise, and turned around the climb down off the battlements and lean against them instead. His back to Lavellan and his honey colored eyes accusing him, “Do you still have so much pride that think it is a good thing to hold onto? Mythal was many thing, Abelas, but even she had her moments of...insanity. Just like the others. Unlike them, she tried to make amends to what she had done. Not even the great Mythal was perfect.”

When she loved me

 

Solas had been wrong when he had accused Mythal of never using her bed mates. She did but he hadn't been her common choice. He was chosen when she wanted to be...worshipped. Tender kisses and long breathless nights. Hands curled into hair and moans for more. She only summoned him when she had bruises on her skin and dried blood on her face. He never questioned her about it because she had asked him to never ask.

_“Don’t ask question you already know that answer to. It’s rude.” she had whispered before kissing him so deeply that it felt like she had reached down and touched his soul. He had clung to her and promised to never ask again._

Only to stay in the night and keep her company, to not leave until she walked him back to the Eluvian and would kiss him on he cheek with a murmur of thanks. He sometimes had the joy of staying for days at a time, breathing her smell deep into his lungs. The summons were soon farther and farther away until she stopped summoning any of them. Not long after she was gone. He was bitter, he knew that he was, and seeing her again that bitterness had given way to harsh words. He hadn’t apologized for those words either, but she also hadn’t seemed to want an apology either. And now she was lost like the child she was.

Her face was no longer the high cheeked sharp jawed beauty it had been. She still had high cheekbones, but they were hidden by the baby fat of childhood that hadn't left her yet. She was thin in the wrong places and no curves to hold the attention of wandering eyes. Silver hair and golden eyes that had kept him awake in awe in the middle of the night were now the common brown of low level slaves. She would grow to be pleasing to the eye, he could see that, but that was a long time coming. Time was slowing down for her now and it would take lifetimes before she became stunning once more. Even she knew this, had joked with that human—Dorian—that only a truly desperate man would court her.

But wasn't he desperate?

_“Don’t look at me like that, Abelas. I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. I don’t even know if I’m worth loving.”_

"Are you alright, Abelas?"

He stopped training in the private yard that she had given over to them. She was training herself on the dummy they had given her. She still didn't have any magic but she needed to know the spells of her people and the way to defeat them. The dummy had been jinxed to move away from her. He flicked his spell from his fingertips and turned to fully face her. His hair had been pulled back into a tight bun to keep it off his neck and she had pushed hers away from her face with a band. She hadn't forgiven Solas or them but had started to speak to them again, her tone less clipped.

_“I didn’t say that you could touch.”_

“I am well. I was simply lost in thought.” he answered.

She nodded her head and turned back to trying to hit the dummy that moved with jerking movements when she got too close to it, throwing her off balance. His hair was so much lighter than hers, blonde with heavy tints of white, thicker and tougher. She had such thin hair, baby soft. She was a baby in comparison to them though. He watched her train as he dried the sweat from his brow and went to climb the steps to the battlements. Tadgh was watching them from his perch on the wall, swinging his legs. He had been chosen as a bed mate as well, and he often back with haunted eyes.

He leaned against the battlement next to him and Tadgh did not bother to face him.

“Trouble?” Tadgh asked he titled his head all the back, until his head was on his shoulders, watching as the raven of the shem—Leliana—flew back and forth above them.

“I am torn between my duty and my own feelings toward our goddess.”

“I am not. I know my place. And this place she has given me is much better than the last one. Much better.”

_“Abelas...you don’t have to leave right away. I get lonely sometimes. Just like you, I’m sure. You can stay for a while. I’ll make sure you get home safe. Stay and hold me for a while. I won’t mind.”_

“You have forsaken your right as bed mate then?” Abelas said as he watched Lavellan backflip and then charge forward to try and hit the dummy. It jerked and slapped her in her chest and she landed on the ground with a curse and a slap of anger into the dirt. She climbed to her feet and glared at the sagging sack that was human shaped.

Tadgh gave a loud noise, and turned around the climb down off the battlements and lean against them instead. His back to Lavellan and his honey colored eyes accusing him, “Do you still have so much pride that think it is a good thing to hold onto? Mythal was many thing, Abelas, but even she had her moments of...insanity. Just like the others. Unlike them, she tried to make amends to what she had done. Not even the great Mythal was perfect.”

“What do we know?”

“More than her.” he said as he jerked his thumb to point to Lavellan who had given up for the moment to take deep drinks of water and cool down, “She knows only what those fragmented memories see. And what they see has been clouded and dulled over time. Her own memories are twice as clear and three times as clouded. She doesn’t believe what we tell her. And her human slaves believe us even less. In all honesty, I like this version more than the last.”

“Not all of us.”

“Most of us. Traditionalist like you are upset at her gift of freedom, the rest of us are so happy that we see no reason to leave our new master. She will be easy to live with. Easy to make happy. Less sweat at the end of any act too.”

“Don’t say that.”

“She has no magic. She has no darkness in her soul. Her mind is clear, and she is a child. If I had to choose which one I would rather be with, I would chose her each time. Not Mythal.”

“She is-” Abelas started but then stopped at looked at her again. No. No she wasn’t.

“You need to talk to her. Ask her about the family she lost. Her human friends. That spirit boy who avoids us. But most of all you need to wake the fuck up and stop trying to make her fit in whatever little shrine you built in your head about Mythal. Because she isn’t her, Abelas. If anything, this is the who that she was suppose to be the first time around and her dying made sure that none of that political backstabbing with the other gods twisted her into something she was never suppose to be.”

Abelas grabbed him by the front of his shirt and growled at him, “Do not speak to me as though you know her. I am her bodyguard, her bed mate.”

“And you know shit for it.”

Abelas raised a fist up and before he could hit Tadgh, Lavellan called up to them from the courtyard, “Hey! Are you guys going to keep training or not? The mages want to use this place for the new recruits so one gets hurt. If you are tell me so that they know not to just barge in here!”

Tadgh smirked as Abelas let him go.

*************

“We have a problem.” Leliana said as she entered the war room, causing Cullen and Cassandra to stop talking and look at her.

“Another one? Maker's breath at this rate we’ll die young from stress.” Cullen sighed.

Cassandra rubbed her head to ward off the oncoming pain. She could feel it forming behind her eyes and pounding at her temple. Leliana looked ready to kill and Cullen had simply sat down on the edge of the table. Cassandra simply kept her eyes closed, “Please, just tell me us. At this rate no news at all would be a gift from the Maker.”

“Vivienne sent us a letter from Val Royeaux. It seems that our effort to keep our Inquisitors new godhood status a secret has failed. The elves in the capital are now fleeing to find any Dalish that they can in order to inform them of the news. Several large groups of radicals—calling themselves Apotheosis—have even managed to gain the support of what remains of the Red Templars and defectors from the Venatori.”

“Of course. As if things are not bad enough.” Cullen said as he stood up from the table to pace before them.

“It gets much worse.” Leliana slammed a letter that smelled heavily of masculine perfume and written in golden ink. The seal on the bottom was broken but Cassandra had seen the seal while living with her Uncle. She knew Dorian must have seen it more times than her.

“The...are you telling me that the Tevinter Imperium is asking after us?” Cassandra pushed the letter away.

“No. The Archon will be here in three days and he wants to take Lavellan back with him in order to calm the elvhen slaves who are not rumbling. He knows that if they lose the slaves, the whole empire falls.”

“He can’t do that! She is a free woman and also a leader of a large army.” Cullen snapped, “He can’t take her anywhere, his status be damned.”

“She is not a citizen.” Leliana said, “She was born Dalish, in the Free Marches. She has no claim to Skyhold by blood or title. Empress Celene is waiting for her to try anything so that she can send her army marching here. The Chantry is also ready to remove you from Skyhold in case things go south. Between everything that is happening, and I hate to say this, but Lavellan may be safer outside of the sphere of Celene’s control.”

“King Alistair wouldn’t help?” Cullen asked.

“No. Between the Blight, the explosion at the conclave, the war that raged because of the mage rebellion, and the ensuing destruction, he is in no position to send think about sending us aid.”

Cassandra gave her trademark noise of disgust, “What happens now?”

“For now, we let Josie be her normal pleasant self and host the Archon. Send Dorian and The Iron Bull away. Keep Lavellan close for the moment and look into this cult that has risen around her name.”

Cullen shook his head, “And what about the ancient elves?”

“They act like slaves, so the Archon might not even notice them.” Cassandra folded her arms and then shook her head, “Truth be told, this is getting worse rather than getting better. We need to get ahead of this before anything worse can happen.”

Leliana grit her teeth and then took the Archons letter from the table and folded it. Cullen gave a colorful curse, “Leliana.”

“The cult has taken to killing in her name. Claiming it as justice.”

“Killing who?” Cassandra asked.

“Rapist, thieves, those who have been known to sleep with children. They call it justice, say that they are doing the will of Mythal, and have also made threats towards the Divine. Claiming that she is a pretender. She is no more holy than them, but Mythal, even reborn, is worth their allegiance.”

“Maker preserve me.” Cassandra muttered.

********

She was busy reading over a letter that smelled too much like blood and evil magic when he gained the courage to speak to her. He had to speak to her because the way things were going they could not continue, “Lavellan, may we speak?”

“Of course. What do want to talk about?” She looked up and pointed to the seat in front of her desk. He sat down and watched as she put the letter away in the top drawer of her desk and closed it tightly. The letter was important and had made her afraid. He could see it in her eyes. He would read it later, make sure that nothing was coming for her.

“The past.” he answered.

“What about the past?”

“When you were Mythal.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her lap and the looked back at him. She itched her scalp and then placed her hands on the desk top. He kept his hands in his lap. She gave him the nervous smile of a child and he gave her the one that had soothed her in the past. He was pleased to see that it still worked. Some of the fear drained from her eyes.

“We don’t have to.” he told her softly as the fire gave a small crack.

“No. This is...this is going to be awkward but, I think it might be better if we do. Because, I think you are trying to fill in a place that I can’t. I’m not her. I am but, not really. Just because the soul is the same doesn't mean I’m the same person.”

He nodded his head and clicked his tongue, “I know. If I may ask, what do you remember, about the past?”

Lavellan began to clean the dirt from under her nails, not meeting his eyes as she answered, “A lot of blood, mostly. And anger. Blind anger. I don’t know why I was so made all the time, but I know that I wanted to kill someone for it. I think I did.”

“Anything else?”

“You and me. Kind of. Others too. But those memories are blurry and don’t come through well. Dorian told me not to worry about them. Blackwall said that I shouldn’t worry about it. Said that you should be the adult and keep your hands where they belong.”

“He is an honorable man, even if he doesn’t see it.” Abelas chuckled and shifted in his seat.

“So...what happened. Between us. When I was Mythal, I mean.”

“I was yours.”

She frowned at him, glaring at him from under her long eyelashes. Mythal had never had long eyelashes. He remembers that. “I don’t know what that means.” she said.

“I was yours. I still am. Tell me leave and I will. Tell me kill and I will. Your will is the only one I will obey.”

“Don’t you want to be free?”

“Freedom is when you make your own choice and live with the consequences of those actions. We—the servants of Mythal—have always been free. We wear the collars out of choice. We stayed out of choice. We still stay out of choice. The collars are made by the paetron god we serve and only we can remove them and put them on. Our illusion of freedom was never an illusion.”

Lavellan looked so lost as she spoke, “You can still leave. You can still take the collar off.”

“I am free. I chose to wear this.” he said as he touched the metal around his neck. It was as warm as he was. It had been heated once as punishment, and he had never presumed around Mythal again. He wasn’t her favorite and she reminded him of that. Lavellan had only given weak hits to his flesh and angry words, but she had never tortured them to make a point.

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because I do not want the world to change anymore. Everything has changed. Even you. And I don’t want to lose the only thing that ever made sense to me. The collar is my choice to be free of my old life while still honoring it.”

“I won’t pretend to understand. But it makes you feel better, then I guess...I guess it’ll be alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I ask why you loved her so much?” Lavellan asked as she slumped in her chair and watched him with a tired smile. She had such deep, dark circles under eyes. Nightmares kept her awake now, the memories of too many keeping her from sleeping.

“Because when she looked at me, I saw nothing but sorrow and I wanted to weep because something that beautiful had no right to be so sad. But she was, because no matter what she did, she was never strong enough to do the right thing. And in the end, the only way for her to do the right thing, was to die. To save us.”

“You say that like its a bad thing.”

“Your friend Dorina seems to understand us, better.”

“What?” she chuckled and sat up straighter in her chair to look at him.

“Do you remember what he said?”

“Kinda of.”

“The dead hurt us more than the living. When she was alive, she didn’t hurt us as bad as she could have. When she died, she tore the world apart.”

“I’m sorry then. I didn’t mean to.” She reached for him and then pulled her hand away as though she had been burned. She didn’t think she had to right to touch him. She had more right than anyone and she didn’t even know it. He reached for her instead, his palm up, and rested it on the desk. She looked at the hand and then him.

Her hand was so tiny compared to his. He curled his fingers over hers and left them lose. She could pull away at any time and he would let her. “The dead don’t mean to die. But they do, and we still hate them for leaving us.” he told her. She nodded her head.

“Solas said the same thing.”

“Are you speaking again?”

“More or less.”

The room fell into silence, the roar of noise from the courtyard muffled this high up, “Do you forgive him?”

“I did the next day. I just don’t know what to say to him. I mean, I get why he did it, looking back. I wouldn’t have believed him if he had told me when we first met. Now, I’ll believe anything until proven wrong. And so far, all of this is proving to be right.”

“Then I apologize.”

“You don’t have to. People who are grieving say and do things because they want everyone to hurt like they do. You don’t mean to be nasty to people, but you can’t help it either. I was like that when I was told about my clan. Dorian is still like that sometimes when he thinks about Felix. All of us are bitter over someone.”

“Those are wise words.”

“The Well told me that one.”

Abelas gave her hand a small squeeze, “Well, then I suppose you’ll make a better goddes than she was. She didn’t lend us words of wisdom when we asked for it.”

“I’ll try to do better this time.”

“I will be here to help you.”

She gripped his hand tightly in both of hers, not even covering half of his one, and gave it a small shake as she spoke, “Thank you, Abelas. For everything.”

“Your wise words and forgiveness are all the thanks I need. But I will accept the spoken words as well.”

 

 


	8. A loophole is the devil's gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eoghain watched as the lighting raced toward him and at the last second moved his body to the left and the bolt sailed right past him and into the wall behind him. It left a deep black mark. Eoghain gave a low whistle, “I must be getting old. I almost got hit that time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:   
> Dirthara-ma=May you learn.   
> Shem= racist slur towards humans. Short for "shemlen" or "quick children"

A loophole is the devil's gambit

June watched as the large fist of the Allfather dug into ribs, then stomach, went up into the jaw and then right into the cheek. The other hand had a death grip on a thin arm, twisting the skin until it was bruised and red from abuse. Falon'Din did nothing but whimper and try to curl into himself. It would do no good. Years would go by between beatings, the rage of being sealed away never leaving. Before they used to run but now it was simply a matter of waiting it out. When Mythal had beaten them it was quick and left only superficial damage; the Allfather left marks that took years to heal.

Falon'Din was thrown to the ground with a crack of something breaking and a harsh stomp of a large boot made his nose burst with the force. The blood trickled out in streams along with tears. None of them moved to help their wayward brother. They had learned to watch but never help. Several kicks to the ribs sent Falon'Din further into the ground. The Allfather grabbed an arm and wrenched it back until something gave popped.

"That bitch and her kin. I'll get out, I'll make her suffers. She thought that me ripping her apart before was painful, she hasn't even begun to know suffering." The Allfather growled out as he began to circle his fallen son, waiting for him to try and move so he could inflict more damage.

June looked up into the black nothing that was the sky. The Forgotten Ones—Mythals children—had forged this prison from their own bodies and souls. Fen'harel had used all of his magic in order to keep it that way. No force save for the magic that had sealed them away could open them again. A loud scream drew his attention at last. Father had ripped the arm he had been twisting clean off. Falon'Din was now openly sobbing, clutching at the gasping wound that had been left.

"Killing us will not free you." His wife muttered as she smoothed the abused skin of her scalp with broken fingers, "If anything it will give us the peace that we are seeking."

June nodded his head, "If Mythal had lived...we might not even be here. We should have listened to her."

The Allfather turned his attention to them, "Do not speak her name, boy. I will not tolerate her any longer."

"She is dead, father. Dead and gone. What harm can a ghost do you?" Falon'Din said as he dragged his body away from his torturer and toward his brother who had moved from his slumped position against one of the four walls for many years. Perhaps he too had died. He would be so lucky. But as Falon'Din curled next to him and under one of his arms he gave a low groan and a plea to stop and they knew that he was not dead and was just as unlucky as they were. June looked away as the next victim was being chosen.

Ghilan’nain shifted from her prone position on the other side of June, shifting her head to watch as Andruil was grabbed by her ankle and thrown into the wall farthest from them. She gave a weak cry. She hadn’t healed enough and her spine was still sore from the beating it had been given a few years before. June nursed his broken arm and looked to the lump of flesh that had once been attached to Falon’Din. He looked at the twins as they tried to comfort each other. They had been so proud when they had helped kill Mythal. Now they cried out in the darkness for her to forgive them.

“I wonder…” Ghilan’nain whispered, “he never grabbed her soul. Not the important part anyway. I wonder if she finally got the upper hand on him and is running around as a mortal. I bet she did. The last laugh, and it was hers.”

Sylaise shook her head softly and leaned heavily into June to whisper back so as not to be overheard, “Even if she did, he would know. He would feel it and he could start to try and drive her crazy. Or worse, get her to open this prison so he could kill her again.”

June flinched as Elgar’nan forced Andruil to open her legs and he shut his eyes to block out the sight. He had seen it too often and had always been beaten worse for trying to stop it. All of them had. Better to let him take what he wanted. Her cries and pleas to stop reached a pitch that caused the ears to ring. He then had a thought and gently shifted closer to Dirthamen. He was a god of liars, he would know the answer to his question.

“Dirthamen,” June whispered, “if we kill Elgar’nan, can he too be reborn?”

Dirthamen looked up with a flinch and then gathered Falon’Din closer to his body before looking away and answering, “Yes. But Mythal would give birth to him. If she was alive. But in order for that to happen, she would need a blank soul. He would be reborn but with no memory of who or what even was.”

“We would be free of him?”

“We can not kill him, June. We are too weak and he is too angry.”

June grit his teeth, “What happens if we toss him out of the prison? Then what?” Falon’Din and Dirthamen both gave him looks of fear. June flinched as a harsh slap was heard. June pointed, as subtly as he could, to what was happening to Andruil. Neither of them turned to look. He hissed at them through clenched teeth, “There has to be a way to beat him. To kill him.”

“You would need her help. Or Fen'harel. And they are far from us now. Free at last.” Falon’Din sobbed into the ripped and bloody fabric of what had once been a glorious robe. Dirthamen had always taken pride in what he looked like.

“There has to be a way out.” June whispered as he crawled back to his wife and sister. When he fell into a fever dream he could see her, Mythal as she moved her hand back and forth softly in a bowl of water. She was making the mirrors. She turned to look at him and he watched as she laughed at him, her face decaying and her skull laughing at him. Lyrium—tainted red—grew out of the ground into a pair of hands and ripped her apart, blood splattering on her mirror. As the blood stained the mirror and the water it had been born from he saw a new face.

What had Fen’harel chanted before sealing them away? Oh yes, _sealed in bone and blood, justice undone, at the end of the world shall the prisoners be free. The tall gate stands forever shut._ He knew that this man, this man would be their salvation. Now he had to plan. And to wait.

**********

To say that Dorian was livid would be akin to saying that a thunderstorm was a passing shower. When Leliana had come to tell him, Bull and his boys that they would be leaving Skyhold while the Archon was visiting had set him off. He had only met Archon Ikol Rohtisus a handful of times and each time had sent him into a wrathful tirade that lasted for days. He told Leliana in very colorful term that he wasn’t leaving Skyhold unless they threw his lifeless body down the damn mountain and until then he would teach Lavellan all she needed to know in order to impress him. Empress Celene's petty ball had been nothing child's play for him in comparison to the Archons mass blood letting balls. The next day he had gone to the training ring and found himself annoyed that none of the other mages had been able to keep up with him. So he had gone in search of the elves who had been given a private yard since their presence had frightened the servants around Skyhold.

When he entered the ring, he had expected to be taunted to even laughed out of the arena. Instead they had looked at him and spoken quickly to each other. Then a very old fellow came into a walking stick. Not a staff or even a shield. A walking stick and a bad back. He bowed to Dorian and gave him a pleasant smile before introducing himself as Eoghain. Dorian could feel himself getting vexed at the indignity that this old man was showing him.

“What? No fancy magic for the lowly human?” he snapped.

Eoghain gave him a throaty chuckle, “I have more magic in one finger then ye do in your whole body, _shem_. But my lady enjoys yer sharp tongue, so I won’t hurt ye too badly.”

“You’ll regret those words, old man.”

Dorian let out a blast of ice magic and Eoghain dodged so quickly that Dorian was sure that he made moved time in order to speed up his escape. Eoghain was suddenly in front of Dorian, sweeping his walking stick under Dorian and sending him crashing to the ground with an “ommfh.” A bitter feeling snaked around Dorians heart and he opened his mouth, spitting fire at the old elf. Eoghain moved away, back flipping and twisting out of the way of the fire as it followed him; Dorian climbing to his feet at following the elf as best he could. Dorian had to cut off the spell and catch his breath. Eoghain smiled at him and leaned against his walking stick heavily. The others were watching with rapt attention. Dorian gave a loud and turbulent war cry before sending out a bolt of lighting with every inch of his power.

Eoghain watched as the lighting raced toward him and at the last second moved his body to the left and the bolt sailed right past him and into the wall behind him. It left a deep black mark. Eoghain gave a low whistle, “I must be getting old. I almost got hit that time.”

Dorina growled low in throat, enraged, “You are old.”

“And you are angry. This anger is clouding your better judgment.”

“Shut up!” Dorian bellowed.

Eoghain raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Make me.”

Dorian flung his staff into a wide arch before slamming into the ground, watching in glee as the dead crawled from the ground and reached for the old elf. Eoghain looked bored as he twirled his walking stick in hand and then made quick work of the small group of skeletons. He jumped high in the air, he back arching as he gained momentum, and slammed the gnarled wood into the skull of one of the heavily armored skeletons, its head snapping off. He twirled it into his other hand, smacking the skeleton several times before jamming in backyards and catching another one, twisting to strike out at another before sweeping low and tripping several more up. Dorian flew toward him and Eoghain caught his staff as it came down. Dorian glared down at the old elf and he smiled back.

“Yield, old man.”

“I am not the person you’re fighting, Dorian Pavus. You are fighting a thing that can not be fought against.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“Yourself.”

Dorian felt his arms relax for moment and the moment was all Eoghain needed. He grabbed Dorian by the neck and flipped him ass over tea kettle and right into the mud. A low round of applause greeted his fall and then an old hand was reaching down to help him up. He took to the hand and was helped up. Once Dorian was on his feet once more he gave a graceful bow to the old elf who bowed in return. As Dorian turned to leave Eoghain grabbed his arm to stop him and motioned for Dorian to follow him. Dorian gave a huff but did so.

“I must say, I haven’t gotten beaten so soundly in years. Perhaps I’ll come and spare with you lot more often.” Dorian quipped.

“Cole has told me that you are troubled. Your thoughts turn dark now that your home is so close. It was easier when home was behind and the road ahead was full of promise.” Eoghain said, not bothering to spare Dorians feelings in any way.

“I know my home land. Archon Rothisus is not only a powerful mage but one that uses blood magic so often that I doubt this rumor of true rebellion is sitting well with him. Slaves are everything in the Imperium. To lose them would be like losing one's backbone.”

“And yet, we all lose our backbone. Even we—immortal and powerful—grow old and lose our spines. Then we need walking sticks for everything. And stairs are the worse. Why do you people insist on stairs?” Eoghain chuckled.

Dorian gave him a glare, “You are smart enough, I gather, to know that my word choice wasn’t a snip at you.”

“And you are smart enough to know that we do not speak unless it is for a good reason.” Eoghain told him as they climbed a flight of stairs that lead to the observatory that Lavellan had found one night and had woken him to help her clean it so they could watch the stars and drink bad ale.

“I know, I apologize. I am just...the Archon won’t take no for an answer. He will do everything in his power to make her see that he is right and take her back with him. And once she is in the Imperium she will never it. They will bury her.”

“We will bury them instead then.”Eoghain said as they looked around the room that had a glass ceiling, casting rainbows everywhere.

“You can’t beat him.” Dorian said with a snort.

“I beat you. A perfect man from Tevinter, a powerful mage. I beat you with a stick. Your Archon will be child's play.”

Dorian shook his head, “It won’t be the same.”

Eoghain laughed and then poked Dorian in the chest with his walking stick, “ _Dirthara-ma_ , Dorian Pavus.”

*******

The dress was a thing of beauty to look at. It had real gold sewn into it. She had felt so out of place even touching something that looked so elegant and grand. Vivienne would have loved the dress. It was a thing to envy and to fear. Only women who held a lot of power would wear a dress like this. Varric was on her couch watching as she stroked the sleek black fabric.

A few of the women that had come with Abelas had made her the dress in just a few hours after learning that the Archon was coming for a visit and Dorian had told her that would need to be dressed to not only impress but only strike fear into the hearts of those who saw her. He would be doing her makeup when the man arrived. Varric would be recording everything.

“You ok, kid?” he asked as he made notes for his next book.

The dress was designed to hug her figure and make her chest and hips appear wider and more pleasing even though she didn’t have either. The back was open and dipped down low enough that it exposed her tailbone. The front was made to circle her neck and trail down, covering her chest and then becoming a thin strip to cover her belly button, before flaring out into a golden shift that was see through. It had slits up the sides as well. She had a golden choker encrusted with rubies that had a little golden chain ending in a star, which hung at her back and swayed with each step she took. It was a high collared coker that would keep her neck from moving. She let go of the dress and moved to sit on her bed. Varric kept writing.

“I think I’ll be ok.”

“If you say so.”

“Any news from Hawke?”

Varric gave a sigh, “No. It’s like before. He’ll write when he can. Knowing Fenris, he’ll be giving Hawke holy hell for leaving without telling him. The broody elf was so possessive of Hawke, kinda like how your broody elf is with you.”

Lavellan looked down at her hands, “None of them are mine. They’re their own people and are choosing to stay for no reason, or at least, reason I can’t even understand. Abelas and the others are like Fenris. Or, what you told me about him anyway.”

“Oh?”

“They have lyrium in them. Their marks are made of it. Its how they keep their magic so strong. It also means that unlike my markings, they can’t even be free of them. Only in words and deed are they free. But never free from the magic and lyrium inside of them.”

Varric gave a hum and then jotted down a few notes. Lavellan glared at him before pursing her lips and jerking her chin at his writing, “What’s this one going to be about?”

“Oh, well, I’m still working on the title.”

“But what’s it about?” she stressed.

“....A goddess and her lover.”

“Varric…”

“It’ll sell millions. And Cassandra will love all the naughty bits too. Once the female protagonist and her lover are of age.”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you just told me.”

Varric chuckled, “So, anymore bad dreams?”

Lavellan flopped back onto her bed, “No. I sleep better now. But something is bothering me. Something I can’t place my finger on. I wish I knew what it was.”

 

 


	9. We only believe the lies that sound passable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you all more. I’ll come back to you, I promise.” he took a deep breath and clutched himself tightly before the spell circled him and yanked him from his bones. As he was thrown from the mirror and into the mortal plain, he could hear the Allfather screaming as he escaped. He thought that he heard someone say, “No you won’t,” before he was let loose, but he might have imagined it. Funny, he didn’t remember why he was leaving. He was just glad that he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, sorry about the delay. Work got crazy and then life and now I have a ton of days off. Thank you for everyone who left kudos, and comments. This chapter was hard to write because, well, because I wanted to put so much into the story that I had to go back and cut out parts that didn't need to be in there. So in short, this chapter was a bitch to write but I do hope that you all enjoy it. Also smut.

We only believe the lies that sound passable

June could feel the plan coming together, falling into place. He could see it as the world around him moved and shifted. The man had come—along with some of his countrymen—to what had once been the golden city. Her city. To see it blackened and in ruins had nearly killed them, and it had served his purpose. The monsters—Darkspawn as they had been called—had been an unforeseen side effect, but not one that he was too worried about. The man—whom had come to call himself Corypheus—would have been the perfect tool to free them.

After all, Fen’harel might have sealed them away, but he had used the first mirror that Mythal had made to do it. And if Mythal opened the mirror then she would open the prison just as well as Fen’harel would have. All of it had been planned out, spoken of in hushed voices as the Allfather wouldn’t hear. They would leave and then seal him away. Mother and Father never to meet again. It had been the perfect plan. Until Corypheus had ruined it with his backstabbing little scheme.

Fen’harel was weak and his foci would taint Mythal in a way she would never recover from. It would block her magic and thus block her power to the mirror. She wasn’t suppose to find out about any of this. Corypheus was suppose to find her and turn her to their side. Instead he had tried to kill their mother and now he was sealed away in the former golden city, afraid and lost while they hissed at him from their side of the mirror. As the others argued he watched instead. She wasn’t powerful like she was before, but she wasn’t weak either.

Her magic was stuck, afraid to spring forth and rain down judgment on her foes. June watched as Corypheus paced and pleaded to his false gods for aid. He and his kind never seeming to notice that it had always been his mother, father, brothers, sisters and wife that had answered his prayers. Well, Mythal had banished him, but she had done as he asked. He wanted back into the Fade, and so she sent him back. Now though, there was a new problem. The last time that they had sent him and his followers back to the mortal coil, the Allfather had caught them and they were still nursing scars and broken bones for it.

They did not have enough magic between them anymore to send him again.

“Please, hear my plea. Guide me! I am your humble servant. I will vanquish that elf and restore the world to its rightful place.” Corypheus cried out, his voice echoing back.

Falon’Din buried his face into his knees, his shoulders shaking as his twin tried to comfort him. Dirthamen looked to June, “The plan has failed, June. We are too weak now to save anyone. This will be our final resting place; we have failed.”

Anduril gave a low whimper and curled tighter into Sylaise’s embrace. Sylaise didn’t even try to comfort her, only turning her head to look up at the nothing and glare. Tears fell down without her consent, staining the dirty auburn hair of Anduril.

“We can not give up.” June whispered as he slapped the mirror in angry, hurting himself more than the door of their prison.

Ghilan’nain turned to face him, her left arm long since gone, given instead to Falon’Din. She shook her head sadly at him, “There is nothing else, June. We are damned and dead and done.” June hung his head, leaning on his forearm against the mirror, covering his weary face with his other hand.

Sylaise whispered, “When we die, will our souls be trapped here too?”

June jerked his head up and looked at her, “What?”

Anduril lifted her head from where she had hidden it in the folds of Sylaise, “She said that our souls will be trapped here when we die.”

“Souls?” June wondered aloud, “Souls? What did she say about souls?”

Dirthamen smoothed his brothers hair, “What does it matter about souls? We have no more power and no more tricks. We do not even have the same number of true believers anymore, June.”

Falon’Din lifted his head and caught June’s eyes. He saw what June was thinking and then stood slowly, limping on a broken leg, until he could lean heavily on the mirror. He clutched at June with his weak and mismatched hands, his once lovely face pulled taunt his bones, “Do not, June. I see the path your mind wanders down. Souls are not strong things, they are not heavy things; they are powerful but if not handled correctly, they will shatter and it will takes ages to reform to what it was. But it will never be the original again. It will not be worth your soul to send that thing back to try and bring our mother here.”

“If what you say is true, then she isn’t our mother anymore. But she is our way out. We have no magic powerful enough to send someone back in both body and soul, but if we use him, perhaps, we will have enough magic to send one of us back, if only for a brief moment, in soul. A way to call out to her for help.” June answered.

Ghilan’nain scoffed, “And who do we send? Our father, who ran his hand through her chest and yanked out both heart and soul? Killed the only immortal who might have saved us from our fate. OR do we send one of her sons, who never respected her? Our perhaps a daughter? Which one of us never sinned against her that should we appear she would not turn her back on them and our plea?”  

None of them had an answer to that.

*******

“Harder.” Dorian gasped as he slammed down as Bull thrust up, striking him deeply.

“If I go any harder, you might break.” Bull chuckled as he held Dorians slim hips and lifted him up higher before slamming him down on his dick again. Dorian gave a little noise of pleasure before smirking down at him and licking Bulls lips with his sinful tongue before replying.

“Ha! Better men have tired.”

“I’m no man.” Bull growled as he gave a brutal thrust that almost sent Dorian from his lap. Dorian’s eyes rolled back into his head, his back bending back with a groan before he shook his head and leaned down to grab Bull by the horns.

“Then take me like the Qunari savage you are. I want it to hurt. I want to feel it for weeks. I want to feel you pounding into me even when I’m standing up.” He gave the horns a sharp tug and Bull gave a playful growl at him before grabbing his smooth hands and pinning them behind his back. Bull only needed one hand to him him that way while the other began to torment an already abused nipple.

“Kadan, you say the prettiest things when I have you riding me like your life depends on it.”

“My orgasm depends on it! Fuck me like you mean it!” Dorian gasped out as Bull leaned up and began to bite at his collar bone. He could feel the Qunari smirk before those powerful hands gripped him tightly by his waits.

“As my pretty ‘vint wants.” Bull purred as he flipped them over and shoved Dorians legs over his massive shoulders and gave a slow but strong thrust down. It sent Dorian into a swirl of pleasure and surprise.

“F-f-fuuuccck…” he groaned out.

“I’ll make you scream my name, Dorian. You’ll scream so loud that even those Tranquil who sleep on the other side of castle will be having wet dreams of envy about you.”

“Promises—oh there! There! Harder!”

“You can do better than that. Come on, kadan. Light the curtains on fire again.”

“Fuck youuuuu….”

“I am fucking you. Not the other way around.” Bull said he pinned Dorian's hands above his head and stopped his slow but brutal pace. Only the enraged head of his member was still inside Dorian, who was trying to push it back inside of him but to no avail. Bull had him pinned.

“Bullll….!” he whined high in his throat.

“You have a mouth and a voice. Use it. Beg me like you mean it.” Bull whispered in his ear as he leaned down and then bite on the lobe and gave a harsh tug on it.

“Please, please, please, amatus!”

“Try again.” he said and went to suckle a dark bruise into Dorian's neck. He even added a mean layer of his teeth to make sure that it stayed for weeks. Just like how Dorian wanted.

“PLEASE!”

“Oh, Dorian. I don’t think you want me to fuck you hard if you aren’t even trying.” Bull said as he sat up and gave him a smirk, causing Dorian’s legs to slip into an awkward position. A painful one at that, but not so painful that Dorian seemed to mind.

“Bull, please, fuck the life out of me. Please. I want there to be marks and a pain I’ll feel for weeks. Please, amatus. Bull, please!”

“If only because you ask me so nicely.” Bull chuckled as he set Dorians leg back to where they needed to be and then dove in like a man going to war. Each thrust made the bed cry out in pain as it met the wall and Dorian in pleasure as his lover took care of him. He reached up and wrapped his arms around Bull, pulling his head to the same side of his neck that was going to be black and purple later. Bull didn’t need to be told what Dorian wanted then. He bite and licked with each thrust; in and bite, out and lick. It drove Dorian wild in bed.

“AH!”

“Louder.”

“OH!”

“LOUDER.”

“B-B-BULL…!”

“LOUDER, DORIAN!”

“AHHHHH!!!!”

The room was silent as the both caught their breath. Dorian clung to Bull as the aftershocks worked through him. Bull kept petting Dorians sides.

“Bull?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, I want to be on my hands and knees. And use those leather bonds next time too.”

Bull only chuckled, “Give me a few and then we can go again.”

*******

Abelas read over the pages that Varric had given to him. He had wanted a fresh perspective on his novel. Abelas had read several of them, and liked a few, but others had made him lose interest quickly. He enjoyed the love series well enough and the one, Hard in Hightown, was good. He marked a line with red ink and left a small note in the margins. The one he was reading was barely passable. No Sential would dare question his patron like the one in the book had.

The book had taught him things as well as disgusted him on occasion. Lavellan was only fifteen—and she had lied about her age in order to better serve the cause she had fought and won for—but it had been dragged into the light when her former Keeper had written a harshly worded letter to Leliana demanding that the return her. When he had been a young man, the age of fifteen was when most of the woman had their second child, or had at least begun to have their families. In his time away, things had changed. A woman could sleep with any man she wanted, but a child was given rules. He was—truthfully—at least four if not five hundred years old. He looked to be in his late twenties but he was too old to be offering sex to his patron because of her age.

She could sleep with anyone, this was true, but if they were too old then it was frowned upon. He supposed that he could understand. After all, what did she really know of sex and its workings? Nothing, if her blushing and giggling at the “naughty” books she had Cole steal for her were any indication. The spirit had taken to fleeing when near them. Lavellan had asked him why and he had simply told her that they were too loud inside, that the old songs were screaming without the others to hush them out. What others?

All that remained of mighty Elven empire was laid to waste. Only two would be gods and a thousand immortal Sentials.

“Time to get up, my dear.” Dorian said as he slammed the door open and jerked Lavellan from sleep. Abelas looked up from the book he was reading by the fireplace and glanced out the window to the sky. It was still dark outside, the sunrise still a few hours off. Lavellan lifted her head from her pillow, glaring from one eye as Dorian swept into the room and began to pull out fine glass bottles from the pack he brought with him while two servants of Mythal hefted a bronze tub into the spare room. Three more carried in buckets of water and a porcelain jug. Dorian himself looked very well put together despite the hour and also well dressed.

She glanced out the window as well and then gave a groan as she pushed her head under her pillow. She rolled away as Dorian tried to tear the covers from her, “Go away. It’s still dark. I have hours before the Archon is due to arrive.”

“Which means we have hours to make sure you are ready to impress him and also intimidate him. The Archon will have his lady wife, the Black Divine, half of his court, and the magisterium with him. Everyone is awake now, save for Sera, but she has a different task while the Archon is here.”

Lavellan gave up and let Dorian take away her blankets and push her to the bronze tub, handing female hands the glass bottles and telling them which one was needed and what they did. Lavellan bore it with all the grace a sleepy child did. She hadn’t been so thoroughly scrubbed in all her life. She even smelled of magic and life and fresh water; all of it was very much too much all at once. As she sat on a stool and her hair combed out and pulled into an elegant knot at the back of her skull she looked at Dorian as he compared the kohl and makeup to her dress. Her head was shifted gently back to its place. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes instead.

“Is your father going to be here?”

“Yes.” Dorian sighed.

“Who else might be on our side today and who is going to be our enemy?” she asked.

“Other than a man and his court who wish to spirit you away to the land of slaves and blood magic? Most everyone. My father may help but I doubt it. Sadly, my dear, we are on our own.”

“So nothing much has changed then?”

Dorian gave a chuckle, “Yes. Now, I’ll be leaving to bring you something small and light to eat. The dressing should be done by then. You can eat and we can discuss how one talks, walks, acts and even bows in the Tevinter fashion. Then I’ll your face, and then we can go the war room for one last prep. After that, well, let’s hope a god who isn’t stuck in the mortal world hears our prayers, shall we?”

The dress while on the figure had looked loose but form fitting. On her though, it clung tightly and held her skin in a pinching fashion. Abelas had left to go and bring her a gift that they had all been adding small bits of magic to. He admitted that Solas was the one who started it, but they had all added small pieces of themselves. A gift of protection until her immortality set in. As the final button was lashed closed, Dorian, Abelas and—amazingly—Solas entered. Abelas held a helmet that looked very familiar to her and it wasn’t until she was standing before him did see why it did.

The sculptures of Mythal had always shown her as having wings and a helmet that covered her eyes. The white gold helmet was the same fashion as the one the sculptures wore. As Abelas lifted it up and placed it upon her head that she felt the magic run down her spine and curl in her stomach. It wasn’t a helmet, but a stylish head dress. Solas moved slightly and swung a gleaming cape of azurite colored cloth over her shoulders, covering her and then seeming to melt into her skin and around her heart. It became a light see through black shawl that flared out like wings after it had settled. As Dorian did her makeup quickly she pet the fabric and smiled.

It felt like home.

“For protection. Just in case.” Solas said as she looked at him.

“Thank you.”

“There! You look stunning.” Dorian said as he snapped the foundation shut and turned her to look in the mirror. The woman looking back at her wasn’t what she was expecting to see.

“Dorian,” she breathed.

“Yes?”

“Sera was wrong. Screw the arrow shop, you should open a beauty parlor instead.”

“Perhaps I’ll do both. After this week is done.”

Abelas raised an eyebrow, “A week? Your Archon has told the spymaster that he wouldn’t leave unless she left with him. He’ll be staying, until he gets what he wants.”

Dorian gave a low curse and Lavellan shook her head.

“You are powerful here, Azurite Lavellan. He is a guest. Remind him of that fact should be become...forward with you and your court. After all, with a thousand immortal guards ready for you to snap your fingers, he’ll be a fool to try anything.” Solas said.

Lavellan looked at him, using the mirror to watch without having to turn her back, “How did you know my name? My first name? I’ve never said it before.”

“The same way I knew to make the cloak out of azurite powder and infuse it with magic that is older than even Skyhold. Names are powerful. Deeds and songs, are powerful. Your name is written in the mark, because it is no longer the mark of Fen’harel, but of Mythal. Your namesake will keep you, just like the cloak. We have already lost much to humans, Lavellan. We will not lose you to them.” he answered.

Lavellan smiled and then bowed her head slightly, “Thank you, Fen’harel. I forgot that of the two of us, you’re the only one who likes to go to these parties.”

*******

“What will you tell her when you see her again?” Anduril whispered.

“The truth. She deserves that much.” he answered.

“Your body will die. You understand that, don’t you? Once this is done, you can not return and your body will die.” Falon’Din said.

“The risk is worth it. We have been here too long. Ages have passed. We need to swallow our pride and ask for forgiveness. Even if she doesn't give it to us.”

“Good luck.” Sylaise sniffed.

“Try to stay alive while I’m gone. She’ll come for us. I know it. I can feel it.”

“We love you, June.”

“I love you all more. I’ll come back to you, I promise.” he took a deep breath and clutched himself tightly before the spell circled him and yanked him from his bones. As he was thrown from the mirror and into the mortal plain, he could hear the Allfather screaming as he escaped. He thought that he heard someone say, “No you won’t,” before he was let loose, but he might have imagined it. Funny, he didn’t remember why he was leaving. He was just glad that he was.

 

 


	10. Sex Yeah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall knew that his face had become hard when answered but Josephine matched his look, “Lavellan does do that. She made choices to make us all safer, even if it might have killed her. She saved the mages from being hunted like dogs by Templars. She saved the Wardens from being kicked out or killed by other groups. She saved Hawke and she tried to save Stroud. She even saved a small piece of her people's history from being destroyed by Abelas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like the half way point of the first part of the series. Things get worse before they get better and I also added a lot of fluff because of the last part of this chapter is straight up dark and I didn't want anyone to get too sick. So warnings are here. Lots of gore, blood, and a bad stuff. By bad stuff I mean medical torture and cannibalism, so please, if any of this bothers you, then skip the last part of this chapter.

Sex Yeah

  
“I should have ordered more marigolds and mangos. The strawberries are out of season and they looked questionable.” Josephine tutted as she walked around their room, looking over her clipboard while a maid tried to tie a sash around her waist. Blackwell only shook his head as the poor girl looked at him with a put upon face. He took the sash from her and sent her away with a small wave of his hand and grabbed Josephine by her waist, halting her movements.

  
“Everything will be perfect. After all, this Archon isn’t here to woo us, he’s here to woo Lady Lavellan.” he tied the sash with a quick knot that he had learned from a pirate with a short skirt and a flirty smirk. She had been on her way to a job and they had an eventful evening together while he had been in the Free Marches. Now though, those days were long since behind him and the only lady he needed was going to make herself sick with worry. She turned around and clicked her tongue in distaste before fixing his collar. She smoothed wrinkles that weren’t there and groomed his beard with her soft fingers.

  
He grabbed her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. She still blushed like a girl even though he did it everyday. She cleared her throat as she moved to the closet to pick out the shoes that would match her stiff necked dress, putting down her clipboard as she looked at the shoes she had to choose from, “Regardless, we are the inner circle and Lady Lavellan has been moved to a very high stature. We can not afford to look less than perfect and also competent as well. This will give us an edge over the Archon who is bringing half his court.”

  
“I don’t see why.” Blackwall said as Josephine used his arm to balance herself while fitting her foot into her heeled boots. She was dressed in the colors of the sun and she glowed twice as bright, while his somber black clothing seemed to push her beauty to the forefront. She would be the center of his attention until his dying day. She could have had any man, and she chose him. A lowly dog with no honor. He would strive to be her knight in every way until his dying breath, because a lady like her deserved no less.

  
“Because, he wants to show off and impress her. She is now a “goddess” and until she is proven otherwise, we must support the claims of the thousand ancient elves that are now guarding this fortress.” Josephine tapped the toes of her shoes until they fit snugly on her feet. She smoothed her daisy yellow dress and white sash. She twirled into front of the mirror and smiled. She had wanted to wear this dress to the winter palace, but the uniform had been a better choice. Now, she would wear it, if only to show that she could look stunning in both a formal uniform and a dress of elegance.

  
“Guarding her.” Blackwall said with a huff as he watched her twist and turn to make sure her dress was perfect. Her hair had been taken out and left to curl around her face. He wanted to reach out and kiss her breathless but didn’t. A man didn’t just grab a lady without her permission. Josephine looked at him through the mirror and then turned to embrace him in a strong hug. He tucked her head under his chin and let the smell of jasmine and ink drown his nerves.

  
“Skyhold is the place that Lady Lavellan feels at ease. Ever since her clan died…” Josephine stopped speaking and clung just a little tighter to him. The memory of the letter from her people still stung. She hadn’t ever forgiven herself for the death of clan Lavellan. The memory of the heartbroken face of Lady Lavellan still haunted her at times, even though Lavellan had never blamed her. Blackwall moved her to stand in front of him and lifted her face to look at him. She looked ready to cry.

  
“My lady love, she doesn’t blame you. You tried your hardest to send aid. She understands that and she understands that even the most valiant efforts are sometimes in vain.” Blackwall said softly and stroked his thumb under her eye to ward off the tears. Josephine shook her head softly and pushed his hands away from her face.

  
“I should have been better.” she said with a sniffle.

  
“You are the best. Lavellan was thinking of ways to keep you long before I swept you off your feet.” Blackwall said with a smile.

  
Josephine gave a low and teary chuckle, “Oh, you swept me did you?”

  
“I did, right up the stairs and into my heart and bed. I only wish I had more to offer.”

  
Josephine smiled brightly at him and then kissed him soundly on the mouth, holding his shoulder tightly as he settled his hands on her waist and held her like a piece of priceless glass. He was always so proper with her. So much more gentlemen like than some of the nobles she had had the displeasure of meeting. Like how a man in love held his heart in his hands. He held her like at any moment she would crumble into dust and he would be left alone again. She pulled away and rested her forehead on his, “A good heart and soul is plenty to offer a woman who has everything. Her family name and title back where it should be means I only lack in love and now, I lack for nothing since I have you.”

  
“That sounds like a bad line from one of those horrid love novels.” he chuckled.

  
“They are horrid, but that’s why Cassandra and I love to read them.”

  
“You women can make a man's head turn all the way around, I swear.” he said as he stepped back and offered his arm to her. She gave a quick curtsey and looped her arm through his. He opened the door for them as they began to make their way down to the court proper.

  
“If we didn’t, then no man would make a fool of himself to impress us, or so I am told.” she replied cheekily.

  
Blackwall kept their pace even and slow, as the morning sun stretched in through the stained glass windows. The elves never slept and their hard work spoke for itself. Skyhold hadn’t looked even half as decent when the Dwarves were working on her. Blackwall gave a low chuckle and replied back with twice as much cheek, “Men do many foolish things to impress a lady. Even climb mountains to get flowers that she makes calf eyes at when they die a few hours later.”

  
Josephine gave a mock gasp, holding her hand that wasn’t intertwined with his over her heart, “And this lady will always make calf eyes at the man who goes to get her those flowers.”

  
“Of course.” he chuckled.

  
As they made their way down the last flight of stairs Josephine slowed until she stopped and he stopped as well. She looked down at her feet, a frown marring her face. Blackwall kissed her hand once more and she looked at him from under her thick eyelashes.

  
“I only hope today goes well. The Archon is a man rumored to be...unpleasant toward elves. Lavellan may be here in Skyhold where we may run interference if need be, but even then, her safety is not guaranteed.”

  
“You’re thinking about the winter palace.” Blackwall said after a moment's pause.

  
“Empress Celene was almost killed because her cousin was swayed to betray her. Lavellan has done much for the whole of Thedas, but this also means that she has gained many enemies as well.”

  
“My lady, don’t take this the wrong way but Lavellan is more warrior than a spoiled queen with whorish relations.” Blackwall said softly as a maid ran past with a mop and bucket. The whole place had been cleaning in preparation for the Archon and his courts arrival.

  
“I still worry.” Josephine answered just as softly as another maid with fresh linens followed the first one up. They must have been preparing a room in this tower, which meant the other one was cleaned already.

  
“You can worry once those gates shut.” Blackwall said as he began to guide them once more down the stairs, “Then we’ll be stuck inside with smiling vipers and their blood magic.”

  
“Yes. And that is what is setting Cullen on edge.”

  
“Anyone with half a brain should be on edge. All the magic running loose around here, even I’m starting to get antsy.”

  
“Solas and Abelas have gone to great lengths to make sure that all the magic is as contained as it can be. Lavellan will have the best bodyguards on her at all times.”

  
“Who?” Blackwall asked as they took a detour through the gardens so that Josephine could be dropped off at her office with no delay. She did love the gardens.

  
“Abelas will not part from her, so that one is of no surprise. The Iron Bull is another that didn’t surprise me, he said he would walk behind her, making sure that no assassins would try anything. Cole and Sera both wanted to be the third member but Lavellan had them sent to Leliana to spy.”

  
Blackwall shook his head, “Maker help the poor soul she choose to be spied on by those two.”

  
“Yes.” Josephine giggled and then her tone became somber once more, “Cullen wanted to be the third as well, but Leliana and I talked him into guarding Cassandra instead. She might have been a Seeker and a killer of a dragon, but she is the Divine of the Southern Chantry now. We can not lose another so soon after Justinia.”

  
“I know that I’m also guarding Cassandra along with Varric. Vivienne is still with Empress Celene and her lot, so who is the third?”

  
“Dorian.”

  
Blackwall almost tripped over his feet at the name that Josephine had given him. He knew that Dorian and Lavellan were close, more like siblings than anything else, but he had thought that Dorian would risk his own life and even his own ticket back to his homeland on her. If the Archon saw that Dorian was playing bodyguard to a woman he wanted to steal away, there would be no telling what would happen to Dorian and his family in the aftermath, “I would have thought that he would have been among the crowd, trying to be a spy without being a spy. Why did he want to be the third guard?”

  
“He wouldn’t say. I suspect though that he feels that if he didn’t guard her then whoever else did would be less than ideal in giving her advice about the way nobles from Tevinter will want her to act.”

  
“She is better a commoner than a queen.”

  
“I disagree. Lavellan would make a good ruler, if she applied herself a little more.”

  
“A warlord maybe.” Blackwall said as he opened the door to Josephine's office for her.

  
“Blackwall!” she gaped at him with wide eyes. He shut the door with a loud laugh and then placed his hands up in surrender when she moved to try and hit him.

  
“I speak in jest. But all of you noble ladies seem to think that little Dalish girl can do a lot more than she’s able to.”

  
Josephine gave him the stink eye as she sat down at her desk to pen a few last minute letters, “She killed a dragon. Several of them, if I recall. If the feasts I had to plan are any indication of her ability.”

  
“She had help. Bull, Dorian, Sera, Cole, Varric, Cassandra, even myself. She didn’t do it alone. She isn’t too proud to ask for help when she really needs it.” Blackwall reasoned as he sat down in the chair in front of her desk. She didn’t look up from her paper when she answered him.

  
“She sent that monster back to the Fade. She is more than capable of doing things alone.”

  
“Not even a god can do everything alone. It’s mostly the reason they make things. So they aren’t so lonely anymore.”

  
At that she did look up, her face twisted in confusion. She leaned back in her chair and he folded his hands over his stomach. She worried her lower lip before asking him, “Is that what you think?”

  
“It makes sense.” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders, “If something that powerful existed why would it need fragile things like us to believe in it? Because it wanted to feel loved, even if it was only for a little while.”

  
“You speak as though something that powerful is a scared child who only wants to make the people it loves feel safer.”

  
Blackwall knew that his face had become hard when answered but Josephine matched his look, “Lavellan does do that. She made choices to make us all safer, even if it might have killed her. She saved the mages from being hunted like dogs by Templars. She saved the Wardens from being kicked out or killed by other groups. She saved Hawke and she tried to save Stroud. She even saved a small piece of her people's history from being destroyed by Abelas.”

  
“Well, as much as I would like to continue this religious and moral questioning,” Josephine said with a huff and then gave him a smile. She wasn’t mad at him, but this type of conversation was best saved for later. He understood and stood up from his chair, “I have work to do and you have to go see Cullen before our meeting in the war room.”

  
“Be safe love.” he bowed to her on his way out.

  
“I always am, mi amor.”  
********  
Leliana made sure that the important information was copied and then the originals burned. She didn’t need anything else about the current situation(or any old facts that would cripple them) to get out. The copies were given to her most trusted spy to be taken out of Skyhold before the Archon was due to arrive. He looked so much like Zevran, but he had blue eyes instead of gold. As he bowed and left the tower Cole spoke, “The Hero loved Zevran and Alistair, but she let him go to become the king he was always meant to be because she loved him. She was such a good friend. Even though Morrigan and her never saw eye to eye on things she still respected the witch.”

  
“Cole. Please focus.” Leliana said softly as she locked the last of the chest.

  
“Sorry.”

  
“See?! See?! Creepy shite like that is why I don’t wanna work with him!” Sera snapped as she pouted at the desk. She had an angry scowl on her face and her leg was moving up and down in agitation.

  
“Sera.” Leliana sighed.

  
Sera looked around the room and then she made a large motion with her hands swinging wildly around the room, “Look, now he’s gone. Creepy things like that shouldn’t be here when weird blood mages and their fat faces are coming here. Stupid nobles.”

  
Leliana tried to curb her anger and instead smothered it down as she reasoned with Sera. Logic was never a sound method with her, but Leliana had little time to try anything else, “Sera. You get to play pranks all night long. But until then you and Cole need to stay up here.”

  
“Alone with that thing?!” Sera squeaked.

  
“No. But make sure that Cole doesn’t leave.”

  
“Oh yeah? Who else is gonna be up here? That old fuddy duddy Solas?”

  
“No. A few of the elves of Mythal.”

  
Sera gave a snort as she crossed her arms and then moved out of the chair she was sitting in to stalk around the room, “They should be the elves of Lavellan though, right? Our Inky is a goddess reborn and now all those shite nobles love her when they don’t even know her like how we do.”

  
“The cookies still taste wrong but now they don’t have to be cookies. She plays pranks with me and eats sweets, but never cookies. She doesn’t need a reason to come and visit me, she just likes to be around and not expect anything in return. Better than the nobles.” Cole said as he sat atop a crate, swinging his legs and letting his heels hit it.

  
“Shut it!” Sera snapped.

  
“Enough. The both of you are going to be hiding up here until nightfall. That is all there is to it and I don’t want to hear anything else about it.” Leliana said with a slap of her hand on the desk, causing the birds to scream at the sudden noise.

  
Sera gripped her hair and spun in a tight circle, “This is so-I can’t-argh!”

  
“Cole, you understand what needs to be done.” Leliana said as she looked at him.

  
“Yes. But there is something…” he started and then looked up at the ceiling, his wide eyes searching, voice trailing off.

  
Leliana snapped her fingers in front of him, “Cole.”

  
Cole looked back to her, and nodded his head as he answered her, “Yes. I understand. Stay here until dark.”

  
“Good. I’ll be back soon, by the afternoon at least.”

  
“All right.” he said as Leliana left the tower and three elves of Mythal came to sit with them. One tried to calm the birds, another sat on the chair Sera had left open and the last leaned on the railing, looking down and waiting.

  
“I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you. And your creepy demon stuff.” Sera complained.

  
“I don’t know if she can.” Cole whispered.

  
“If she can what?” Sera said as she tapped her foot in front of Cole. Cole closed his eyes and let his head swing side to side softly. Then he seemed to snap out of what had gripped him and looked at her with watery sad eyes.

  
“Oh, sorry. Not you.”  
“What do you mean not me?”

  
“I’m talking to June.” Cole said in way of explanation.

  
Sera shook her head in confusion and then threw her hands up, “June who?”

  
All of the elves turned to look at them as they spoke. Their eyes wide in fear. But neither of them seemed to notice.

  
“Lavellan’s June.” Cole said with a small smile.

  
“Inky don’t know nobody named June.”

  
“She did when she wasn’t her. When she was the sun that wasn’t blocked by birds.”

  
“What?”

  
Cole began to nod his head again, eyes closed and the elves moved closer to hear him as he began to whisper, “That’s Sera. Her ears always point to the Fade. She can’t hear you though.”

  
“Great. What fresh fuck is this?” Sera said as she rubbed her temples.  
*****  
“My son, if you don’t pay attention, then you’ll never learn.” the Archon said softly to his son as he kept one hand on the soft blond hair of his slave, Amita, while picking strips of muscles out of the other slaves forearm and cooking it slightly by heating his fingers with magic. The other one he had named Pearl and the Qunari had been a mage. Her lips had been sewn shut and it suited him and his needs fine. His son looked up from his slack jawed awe to blush in embarrassment. Amita was most skilled at pleasing him with her mouth. His son looked him in the eye instead and answered him with a calm voice.

  
“Sorry, father. I was watching the other one.”

  
“Ignore her. Oral pleasure is cheap, but knowledge is priceless.”

  
“Of course,” he said and instead looked to the red head Qunari slave. He was often watching her and the Archon could see the first tender threads of a crush. He would have to crush those feelings soon. A slave was nothing.

  
“Now, the forearm. What do you know?”

  
“The meat is tasty?”

  
He gave a noise of displeasure and tugged harshly on Amita’s hair, pulling her off as she gasped in great lungfuls of air, and then slapped her with his bloodied hand, before shoving her back down into his lap, “Stupid boy, we both know that. It’s the reason we eat it at dinner and then heal our dear Pearl and Amita here. A one armed slave is a dead one.”

  
“Of course.”

  
“Try again.” he said with clenched teeth as Amita suckled him dry. Pearl didn’t even try look down as Amita choked coming back up for air.

  
“The forearm is the lower half the arm in whole, and they are have two main arteries that run the length of them.” his son said as Amita crawled away to curl near Pearl and his son only watched them. Such pity was not becoming. The boy would need to learn. A little blood magic was going to have be used soon if he didn’t shape up on his own.

  
“Good. And?”

  
“It has three bones.”

  
“That’s my good boy.” the Archon said as he ruffled the boys brown hair. It was curly, like his mothers. That elf had been good for one thing it seemed.

  
“Father?”

  
“Yes, Sajay?”

  
Sajay looked down at his hands and then took a deep breath to ask his question, “When she leaves with us, can I keep her?”

  
Ikol laughed as he plucked another strip of meat out of the Qunari, “Keep a goddess? My boy, you think so grandly. Why yes, yes, you can.”

  
“And those rebels we made the deal with?” Sajay asked as he his father offered a piece of meat to him and he accepted it with smile.

  
“Also yours. Remember though my boy, meat is only good for a short while.”

  
“Of course father.”


	11. Uptown Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Magic is not evil, it is a tool that needs to be governed by a being of light. Mythal has returned to us, to guide us back to our rightful places. Magic will once again be useful and never again shall we fear the Templar order or the Chantry.” he spoke like a holy sister possessed. All religion and chant, but no feeling or true belief behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get dark. I'm so, so, sorry. Things get way worse and several tags will be changed because of it. This chapter will move the story along but the next chapter is when things go south. This is a pre-warning for anyone who is reading this. Also, ten pages! Ten pages is how long this chapter is. Good God. 
> 
> Translations:   
> Assan=arrow   
> Athim=humility   
> Bel=many   
> Falon=friend

Uptown Fuck

Krem walked around the kitchens, watching as the cooks and maids ran around, making dishes of all flavors and colors. The cook was yelling for more eggs and flour when Cullen came in dressed in his new uniform. He still wore that red feather coat of his and Krem couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. Krem stepped back and leaned against one of the walls out of the way, watching still to make sure nothing went wrong. Cullen reached for him and grasped his hand tightly. Krem never wanted to hold anyone else hand but Cullens, and the babies when it finally arrived, “The boys and I are going to be on kitchen duty. Watch out for any...unique Tevinter dishes that might harm her worship.”

“All of you?” Cullen said, his eyes drawn to Krems still flat stomach. It wouldn’t be flat for much longer. Krem gave a soft chuckle as he answered.

“Stitches and Dalish are going to be hiding out in the healers building and Rocky is being confined to quarters until my countrymen leave.”

Cullen rolled his eyes and replied with a sour tone in his voice, “If they leave.”

“They will. One thing about the spoiled royals of Tevinter, they don’t stay where nothing is going on. Like to be entertained. So long as we appear powerful, but boring, then they’ll leave in a week, two tops.” Krem said. He had grown up watching the upper class become cruel to certain groups only to lose interest when they saw that the other group wouldn’t fight back. Not they could, not in Tevinter, only mages could fight back, and noble born mages at that.

This wasn’t Tevinter though. This was Skyhold and Lavellan held little tolerance for cruelity in the ranks. Templars and mages were given one simple rule. Get along or get out. None had any qualms about that. The mages were finally treated like people and Templars now had a leash that held them accountable for their actions instead of just slapping them on the wrist. Between Vivienne, Cullen, Dorian and a few others, Skyhold held itself together without either faction trying to kill each other.

“Dorian didn’t leave after two weeks.” Cullen said with a smirk on his face and moved out of the way of one of the maids as she rushed in with two basket of eggs in each hand and another balanced on her head. The cook took the basket from her head and began to crack them into a bowl. Krem wondered if the cooks were making dishes that only the inner circle enjoyed as a way of voicing their displeasure of having the Archon and his court to feed. Passive anger was the best kind when dealing with nobles and foreign nobles at that. Krem looked at Cullen and gave him a firm push. Cullen looked at him and Krem chuckled.

“Dorian and you are friends, so wipe that look off your face. Besides that, he didn’t want to be anywhere else until the hole in the sky had been fixed. Now him and the Chief are bumping uglies, no reason to leave at all now.”

Cullen's face fell and his jaw tensed in anger as he spoke, “I know. I just...I’ve seen what blood mages can do. The...horror that they can wrought. I don’t want Skyhold to become like…”

Krem cut him off by turning him so he could look into the amber eyes that always shone with love at him. Krem never wanted those amber eyes to darken. He held Cullen steady as he spoke, “Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself, Cullen. If you go down into that place, you might not come back again.”

Cullen held his gaze, even though he wanted to look away. Oh, how he wanted to look away. But he hadn’t been able to look away from Krem. Not since the other man had smiled at him after beating him in the ring. Beaten by a better man that him and Krem didn’t even know how that day had changed him so much. Anything to see that smirk and playful expression on his face for all time. He had won every battle set before him for many reason, but mainly because, he wanted Krem to be proud of him, “I know. Besides, there is too much happening for me to let my mind wander.”

“Yes. You have to protect her worship and the Lady Seeker. Make sure that everyone is doing their jobs, and hope that no one tries to kill anyone.”

“And I have to worry about you.” Cullen said as he placed his hand gently on the very small bump that Krem had hidden. Krem pressed Cullens hand closer, covering the iron clad one his leather gloves. Cullen smiled and leaned his head to rest on Krem shoulder, and Krem leaned his head into Cullen golden curls. He hoped that when the baby came, it had his curly, yellow hair. Krem could want and wonder about these things now. The Chief had no want to leave, his Chargers didn’t go anywhere without their Chief.

Skyhold was home, and they were going to defend it.  

“I’ll be fine. It’s like I told you before, this isn’t the first time this happened, and if you have any say, it will not be the last.”

Cullen blushd crimson and almost choke as he stuttered out, “I-I-I-”

“Go get the Lady Seeker, Commander.”

“R-right. Cassandra. I’ll just...I’ll see you later?”

“Of course. You put me in my “condition” and you’ll have to make it up to me by rubbing my feet. Maybe a backrub too.”

“Of course.”

Krem gave him a push and chuckled, “You are like a dog. Go on, play fetch with someone else. I have to make sure no one sneaks in.”

“Maker keep you from harm, love.” Cullen said as he moved close once again and kissed Krem on the mouth with everything he had. Krem held him tightly as they broke apart.

Krem whispered against Cullens lips, “The Maker and a hundred other gods couldn’t tear me away from you.”

************

As she scrubbed the pan she had been using to cook soup in a knock came to her door. She stopped, wondering if the person on the other side would leave should she not answer it. Another knock came and she sighed. She had enough problems and she didn’t need to entertain guest. She let the pan sink back into the water as she dried her hands. She threw the door open, ready to tear into whoever had come calling so late in the day. Instead, her little brother stood before her, after having been missing for a few weeks, the crazy Dalish ink on his face(and they looked infected and red, like it had been cut and burned in at the same time); she still reached out for him and pulled him inside with a breath of his name leaving her lips, “Nathan…”

As the door closed, he shook his head and moved to sit in a chair by the fireplace, “Don’t call me that. We are leaving our old names behind. Human names are not the names of our people.”

She clenched her hands as he spoke so softly and so numbly to her, as though he had no soul in him. Like he was a Tranquil, the thing that she had been afraid of for him all his life, “I’m your sister and you need to stop listening that man. He’s crazy and is going to get you killed! So what if some old goddess is the same woman who saved the world. It’s not like she’s going to answer our prayers.”

Nathan looked at her with wide eyes, tinged with despair and clouded with the hope of those who were running out out it, “But she will. Athim says so. We just have to kill those who turn their back to her, appease her with blood and then she will right the world. She’ll free the Creators from their prison and together they will bring back the Elven Empire.”

“Nathan-” she sighed and he cut her off with a snap, anger clouding his blue eyes.

“My name is Bel’assan now.”

“Fine! Whatever, just shut up and think for a minute. Mythal is a goddess, yeah, but she got sealed away with all the others. So how is she back? Besides that, mom and dad didn’t believe in the old elven gods. We go to the Chantry every chance we get and pray there.” she said as she crossed the room and bent down to grip his shoulders and shake him a little.

He just smiled at her, wide and unfeeling. The smile of a doll.

“She’ll forgive us for doing that. We didn’t know any better.”

“Maker you should hear how you sound.” she snapped as she removed her hands from him and went back to her dirty pan that had been soaking for a short while.. She would her anger out on it and not on him. He’s a child and didn’t know any better. She began to scrub so quickly that the water sploshed and spilt over the rim, soaking her apron.

Nathan stood up, she could hear him coming to stand behind her, “She won’t forgive you if you keep denying her like that. You have give up your human name and give her your loyalty. Even those Templars have her marks on their faces, despite being humans, they see now that see is the one true god, for she lives and breaths and cares for us.”

She slapped the water and tossed the pan back into the dirty water, gripping the edge of the sink and gritting her teeth as she tried to reason with her wayward brother, “You have magic, how do the Templars and your crazy cult leader feel about that?”

“Magic is not evil, it is a tool that needs to be governed by a being of light. Mythal has returned to us, to guide us back to our rightful places. Magic will once again be useful and never again shall we fear the Templar order or the Chantry.” he spoke like a holy sister possessed. All religion and chant, but no feeling or true belief behind it.

She couldn’t help it anymore. She turned and hit him so hard that he was taking off his feet and went crashing to the floor. He shakily brought himself back up and she stood over him, her whole body shaking with rage, “I don’t believe this. Did you come all the way home to spill this filth into my ears?”

“I came to try and make you see reason. Athim told me that you would try to make me doubt. Said that I would know what to do.”

“Like he’s here.” she sneered.

“He is. Please, see reason. Come with me.” Nathan whispered as he clutched at her waist and tried not to let the tears in his eyes spill over. She pulled him up by the collar of his shirt and shook him as she spoke harshly to him.

“No. These people are crazy and they are going to die for going against the Chantry.”

“I’m sorry you don’t see the light, sister of mine.” he whispered as he gripped her tightly to his body and then she felt a sharp pain in her neck and before she could scream, the knife had gone all the way through. Nathan gently lowered her cooling body to the floor and hunched over her. He felt a warm but withered hand settle on his shoulder and he looked up into the face of his mentor. He wiped his face, smearing blood everywhere. Athima crouched to the floor and wipe the blood away with a soft piece of cloth that he took out from his robes. Nathan leaned into the touch, letting the tears fall freely.

“Weep not, child. Mythal will forgive her soul. Her blood has appeased the wrath of the goddess. We now only need to speak to her. But not yet. First we must prove that we are worthy of her time. We have much work to do.”

“Yes, Athim.”

********

It was an ugly thing to behold. The same shade of pink as a nug with several layers of puffy silk and bows that glittered with little white rhinestones along each seam. The collar dipped too low and the waist cinched too tightly. It was more suited for a child than a warrior with years of training under their belt. The immortal elf, whose name was Falon, held the dress in her hands and looked expectedly at Cassandra, who simply crossed her arms and said one word, “No.”

Falon raised one eyebrow, her green eyes unamused as she tried to reason with Cassandra, “My lady-”

Cassandra would hear none of it, for she had heard it too often as a child. Even Anthony had tricked her into dresses more hideous than the pink thing currently being held out to her. She was a woman grown now, and a warrior to boot. Dresses were no longer her weapon of choice, despite being a lady of noble and royal birth. She simply shook her hands at Falon along with her head, brow drawn down in disgust, “No. I will not wear that...cake on my person.”

“It is a dress, my lady.” Falon said with a chuckle.

“My uncle put me in enough of these things that I do not know what it is. I know that I do not like them and I will not wear one again for any reason.”

Falon let the dress hang a few inches lower, the hem brushing the floor as she frowned thoughtfully at Cassandra for a moment. Cassandra had come to find out that these immortal elves knew the common speech well enough, but it took them awhile to form the words they wanted to say. They did not waste their words and left many in Skyhold feeling as though they were being watched instead of guarded. Cassandra didn’t feel that way. They spoke when necessary, took action when it was needed and did not overstep themselves. Worse guest had stayed at Skyhold and Cassandra could honestly say that they were some the better ones that had graced the halls, even if they did want to put her in a dress. Falon licked her lips after a moment and then spoke again.

“But the Archon-”

“Can suck it up and deal. With. IT.” Cassandra said in a clipped tone.

Falon gave a bow of her head and put the dress back in the chest she had fished it out from. She turned then to Cassandra and lifted her arms to indicate the whole room that Cassandra had claimed as hers. She even turned her head in mock amazement before speaking, “Yes, my lady. Then, what will you wear?”

Cassandra could feel a smile tugging at her lips, but she would not let it come. She sat down on her bed instead and leaned heavily on her knees while Falon watched her, “My armor if I can not wear the uniform I wore to the winter palace. I am not yet the Divine, and until I am, I still a Seeker of Truth. This man does not frighten me. But I will frighten him.”

A smile as sharp as glass crossed Falon’s face before she bowed at the waist with a low mutter of hidden glee, “Of course, my lady.”

“Good. What of Varric?” Cassandra asked as she stood and went to her mirror. Josephine had left no room for argument. Her hair would need to be done and Falon would do it for her. As Cassandra sat down, Falon came up behind her and began to undo her single braid. A thick brush was then used as Falon gently untangled her hair from the style Cassandra put it into to sleep.

Falon gave a low hum as she wrestled with a thick knot before answering, “The writer has been taking notes for hours. He says that it will help with his new book and perhaps finish his love novels.”

Cassandra knew she was blushing when she asked, “Oh?”

Falon didn’t even seem to notice as she worked on the thick hair in front of her, “He says you are a fan. I have not read them myself. But the other one, about The Champion of Kirkwall, is very exciting.”

“It was.” Cassandra said. She had some of it, and Varric had told the whole truth of the story about the Champion and his friends. What had truly happened to start the Mage Rebellion. Before her thoughts could run away, Falon spoke.

“He was here, wasn’t he?”

“He was indeed. But time had worn him down, and he left shortly after arriving. We have not heard from him since.”

Falon stopped her brushing and settled a strong hand on Cassandra's shoulder. Cassandra caught her eyes in the mirror and she suppressed a shiver of fear. Those eyes seemed to burn in holy fire when they were not speaking of silly things. Cassandra had seen all the elves of Mythal over the past few weeks. They had eyes like a dragon's; old and powerful and they held nothing inside of them. “We can go and search for him. It is no trouble to beings like us.”

Cassandra only shook her head slowly, “No. I don’t suppose that it is.”

“We can leave before the gates shut.”

“Speak with the Inquisitor first. She is in charge.” Cassandra said with a firm tone. The fire seemed to jump and burn hotter before shimmering down. Falon gave her smile instead and went back to brushing her hair.

“She is our patron, I would never assume to do anything without seeking her permission before acting on her behalf.”

“She freed you all. Why still act like slaves?”

“Why still act like a Seeker of Truth, when you are now a holy woman in every way but official title?”

“I see your point.”

Falon finished her hair by tying it up high on her head and wrapping a thick leather strap around it and sticking a silver hairpin into it so it would not fall out of place. The rest was quickly braided with bright beads of amber glass and white silk going through it to add to her hair. Falon bowed when she was done and gave a curt, “My lady.”

Falon was almost to the door when Cassandra called to her, “Wait.” Falon turned to look at her with a blank expression. Cassandra gave a noise of disgust that Varric swore she should trademark and then stood. She crossed the room and stood before Falon who stood her ground, “IF you can find me a dress with less...poof in it, then I will wear it. I will not be happy about it, but I will wear it.”

“I have just the thing in mind. It is more...fancy armor than dress.”

“Thank you.”

 

 


	12. Partners in Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had lost time. How did someone even lose what they had? Time is the only constant everyone had in common. She can’t lose that! She’s already losing her mind. She can’t lose time too. She feels her voice crack as she curls her body tighter into itself, hoping the voices have answers, “If we run out of time, where does it go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that the bard sings at the end of this chapter is a real song. Youth, by Daughter. Go listen. It helped me finish this chapter. Thank you for leaving kudos and checking this work out. Thank you for any comments and please enjoy.

Partners in Crime

Cole could feel his body trying to shake apart. June was too large and too loud, so much pain. He didn’t know how to help. June was clutching him at his core, digging nails into him and twisting as the world pushed around him. Spirits became demons because the world was too real and too much when they had grown so used to being simple. This wasn’t the same though, souls were much different. Souls lasted as long as they remained intact, and even when broken, would put themselves back together again. June was different though; a black spot was inside of him, and it was full of pain and anger and so many other things that the darkness could grow fat out of.

June was pushing his thoughts brutally, wishing to be heard. Sera had taken to balancing on a beam on the side of the room while the elves had circled him. Watching. Waiting. He tried to hold the words in. Words that would break the elves, Solas, and Lavellan. Words that condemn all of them if he spoke them, setting them up to fall.

Solas had changed. He was no longer held by his rage and his pride. Time had tempered his reckless youth while Lavellan had lived through several lifetimes, trying to piece herself back together. The world had needed her and she had been killed before she could help. All she ever wanted to do was help. Like him. But he didn’t know how to help June, there was too much and Cole could feel his body trying to resist turning into an abomination.

The words spill like blood from his mouth before he can help himself, June’s words rushing forward with his voice as the blade that would end all of this; all that Solas had tried to achieve, “Shadows settle on the place that you left behind, tainting it and cursing it with the hatred that ran through your blood like how the songs of your believers would echo in your temples. Our minds are troubled by the emptiness, because that is where he put us. Destroy the middle it's a waste of time, don’t any of you see? She is bound by a concept that has no ruling over her, she only believes that she can die, and so long as she believes that then she will always risk her own death. Lie to her. Lie and cheat and she will love you and this time she will stay and then we can be free. For we are sinners and we can not accept our punishment anymore; please, tell her that.”

The elves look at each other, and he can see it in their minds. A lie as sweet as candy and Abelas telling it to her. Solas never knowing, for she is angry because he never said the truth and so the lie would go unchecked. She would believe and then the dark part would come. The part that had killed her before. The other one might have yanked her heart and soul out, but that darkness of her soul had corrupted her golden city and split her soul when it didn’t need to be spilt. She had wanted to help the world so badly, that she turned into the thing she hated the most.

June is tugging now, pushing at the seams and Cole bats him away as best he can. He curls tightly into his own body, hoping the seams hold. He was human, for a short while. The death of the real Cole finally brought to light and the man who was the catalyst of it all was now haunted by it forever. It was helped to know that he was suffering for what he done to the real Cole. Because that meant that the old Cole could move on, and he could become the real one instead. Safe.

Sera has moved to grab him and he can’t stop himself, he holds tightly to her. Drawing blood as his nails stab a vein near her wrist, she cries out in pain and he holds on as June slams against the veil, trying to reach Lavellan, even though she will not hear him. No matter how loud he cries at her. He tucks himself into the part of Sera that is always pointing to the Fade and she screams curses blacker than the tainted city at him. June follows. And then a truth is shown to them both without being meant to see it. Sera was never a typical girl.

Cole can see it now. A Forgotten God. A sister to Solas when he had been different, a child that Lavellan(no, not Lavellan, she wasn’t so bright back then, she was like the Fade) had praised for her skills. All of Mythals children had been tricksters, and Sera had never given that part of her old soul up. It’s why the cookies tasted wrong and right now, why the beehive was done but forgotten. Why Sera is afraid of the Fade, because the Fade is all she had once been. But she was Sera, she would always be Sera, because the old soul held nothing but memories that Sera didn’t care about and didn’t want.

He opens his mouth to scream but Sera whispers the words inside her head instead, “My sister told me to be careful when falling in love; and like the fool that I am, I bit off more than I could chew.” Mythal. June. Falon’Din and his Qunari and the Qunari that had held the heart of a Forgotten One. Faces upon faces that Sera had wanted to forget and she had. She was not a Forgotten One because she was here. She was real!

Like he was real.

Sera pulls away with a gasp and an angry sobbing noise. June roars inside his head while they argue. June will be locked away until Solas can deal with him. June fights and Cole knows why. But Cole knows that June isn’t going to help people. He’ll hurt them. So Cole pushes him back into the place where the old Coles hurt used to be, and builds up an iron cage even as they yell inside his head.

Cole can feel the floor pressing into him as he writhes on the ground. Sera is trying to kill him with an arrow she has in her hand. The old elves keep her from him and watch him as well. The lie as sweet as candy is gone now, because they have changed too. Only June was remained the same it is killing him instead. So Cole pushes and yells because he can not help June. Solas might be able to, but June would have to change.

“From the perfect start to the finish line, can’t you see? She has to listen to me, we need her.” June tries to reason as a another bar is added to the cage.

“No, I don’t remember us falling in love. But I’m sure that it happened.” The Sera who wasn’t Sera said as the memories faded and flew away, forgotten as quickly as they had come, because the past was not something that could hold the real Sera down.

“You're still breathing, you're the lucky ones.She hasn’t forgotten you because she never knew you. She has stopped breathing many times and she has another chance to help people. Please, just wait a little while longer.” Cole sobs as he throws away the key in his mind and June howls his rage. He can feel his body become boneless as one of the elves tries to help his to his feet. Sera is red in the face from her screaming.

 “I know I don’t know!” she says as she tries to wiggle out of the hold keeping her from killing him. June is sobbing and Sera is angry and Cole knows now what Lavellan had meant the night had told her what had happened to the old Cole. She had smiled so sadly at him and her inner light was so bright when she had spoken.

_“My Keep once told me that compassion was born because when we see another in pain, it pains us because most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs already, and there is no reason to add to their misery. So compassion is born in the face of our helpless need to try and help others.”_

Cole knows he might die, but he will risk it. He goes and hugs Sera tightly to him and Sera...Sera dropped her arrow and embraced him as she began to sob. She hadn’t wanted to remember, because it was easier to move on, when there were no strings attached.

_“Why mourn the past when you can own this day…”_ Sera sobbed out in a tilting tune, the same way that the bard in the tavern did when she sang the song she had dedicated to Sera.

*******

_Crack. Craack. Pop. Pop! Snap._

Dorian reached over and grabbed the small tan hands that were cracking and snapping every knuckle at least twice. Bull had dressed himself in full battle armor, the kind that he had brought with him when had first been transferred from Seheron. Battle armor only worn when Qunari stopped playing at war and put what they had learned into practice. Abelas had donned solid black armor, similar to his off golden set, but it had lyrium stitched into the seams and every joint. Every time a shadow passed over him, all of him save for the glowing faded. A skull and bones glaring back at them from the darkness, with dragon horns. He and Lavellan were dressed more like nobles.

Lavellan looked at him and gave his hand a squeeze, “My mother told me to never think with my heart, but I never listened to her. She’s gone now, and I don’t know what to do, Dorian. You do. You grew up with these people, you know how to think. Tell me what to do.”

Dorian held her hand as they waited for the Archon and his court to enter, standing before the Inquisitors chair, looking down the dais at the doors. She wasn’t used to being a figurehead, but she was used to granting judgement that was justly deserved. They would eat her alive for it. Instead she would have to be everything she wasn’t. He let go of her hand and placed a firm grip on her shoulder. She didn’t turn her head, because he had explained to her that no leader ever had to look at subjects, her head never moved from looking ahead. Her face frozen in apathy.

She didn’t know how to do that either and so he gently smoothed her face into the proper look and used a light spell to keep it that way. Half lidded eyes, a firm set line of her mouth, tilted slightly at the corners, faking a smile and a scowl. Her eyebrows left loose but tight. She wouldn’t be able to show her surprise or her anger. Her expressive eyes would be her only tell and eyes could lie. Her gave her one last smile and smoothed the makeup around her eyes one last time. The black and gold made them more dazzling and he knew it.

“Announcing, the Archon of the Tevinter Imperium, Ikol Rothisus. His wife, Robecca. His heir, Sajay. Announcing, Magister Halward Pavus, of Minrathous…” was called out as the doors were opened and in stepped all the malicious finery from Tevinter. As the finery swept in, behind them came shadows in golden chains. Lavellan waited until the Archon and his wife, trailed by their son, had taken ten steps in before descending down the dais, walking heel to toe, head held high. They followed two steps behind her.

Cassandra and her guards were at the halfway point, seated in a high backed chair, wearing a get up that was more armor than dress. The whole of the court had been cleared out to make room for a square table with the middle cut out and only one end open. An arena disguised as a dining room. Cassandra would sit in the middle on one side of the table, while The Black Divine sat across from her on the other. The Archon and Lavellan would be at the heads of the table, a silent match of wits. Before the light meal of lunch, they would speak. Break for a short while and then meet again before dinner.

The Archon had made it clear, that he was not leaving without Lavellan in his possession. As though she would somehow curb the masses of slaves ready to tear the throats of their masters out with their teeth and dance in joy over their cooling corpses. Dorian had seen many an Elven slave, but few of them Dalish like Lavellan. They would not heed the words of a god they held no belief in, they might try and tear her apart more likely. Dorian had made it clear to everyone though about how to win this match. This was not the Winter Palace, this was not a childish game of rumor done in ornate mask. These stakes had real consequences to them.

They only to way to win was if Lavellan outwitted the mighty Archon—which was in the realm of the possible, but not likely. Dorian had heard and seen more than enough evidence to know that the Archon was very good at rubbing people the wrong way and making them slip up to insure his own success—or if she demanded trial by combat. She would have to choose her champion to fight for her and if they won then the Archon would leave. And of his slaves would stay here, as a sign of good faith. It was how House Pavus had gotten many slaves in the past. Whole households would be given as a sign of graceful surrender. Dorian knew Lavellan wouldn’t keep anyone she was “given” and most likely they would end up freed and sent back to any family they might have been stolen from or set up in a job somewhere far from slavers and their reach.

As the parties stopped an arm's length away from each other, the room became tense. The Archon bowed his head, his wife dipped her body low to show off her chest and his son made a short bow at his waist to Lavellan. Dorian spared a glance at his father who did the same. They both looked away from each other; perfect strangers. Lavellan lifted her left hand—the one with the anchor on it, softly glowing even now—extended it palm up to the Archon as she rested her right hand over her heart and dipped her head down only the smallest of inches. The Archon smiled and pointed with an open hand motion at the anchor. Dorian knew that he too once had a smile like the one the Archon won.

A smile made of lies.

“May I? After all, it does not make a promising future for us if we can’t get along. The past deeds of our ancestors notwithstanding.” he said. Lavellan had only extended her hand so close to the Archon. Her elbow barely straight. She seemed to tilt her head softly but not all and then extended it into the withered hands of an old man she had been told to be wary of.

He traced the mark with his fingertips, twisting her hand softly, watching as the light from within the anchor shifted and changed with each turn of her wrist. As he bent to kiss her hand, Lavellan swiftly pulled it back. The Archon raised an eyebrow at her and she gave him a cold gaze in answer to his unasked question.

Lavellan spoke with an even yet bored tone, “The past if far behind us, and the future doesn’t exist. Not yet.”

The Archon chuckled and his wife answered, her large hooped earrings made of rubies swinging like crazy as she spoke, “You are such a delight, Lady Lavellan. Or should we call you—and dear me asking such a silly question. Of course we should!—Mythal. A goddess.”

Cassandra chose that moment to jump in, her face a cold anger, “I know this is a formal affair, but please, hurry up. We have little time here in the south for the laid back and lazy ways of the north. We have much to do and little time to do it in.”

The Archon outright laughed at that, “Do you? From what I understand is that a...former magister by the name of Alexius found a way to bend time. Magic it to work for the user. Or is that a rumor with no meat?”

Dorian can’t help himself when he snorts with disgust on his face and in his voice, “Time magic should not be played with. We barely even understand the Fade, let alone how magic is affected and can affect the world from within it. But by all means, yes, let’s play with dangerous powers beyond our comprehension and hope for the best.”

Sajay, the son, is the one who answers—his face twisted into childish ire—at Dorian's little spat, “Mind you tongue. Lest you lose it.”

“Oh? And who will be cutting it out? You or a slave? For I have fear of neither.” Dorian said with little smirk.

Lavellan cuts them both off, “Enough. You did not come all the way here to butter me up and ask for favors. You came to take. Just like before. I have a half a mind to set you on fire from the inside out. So speak plainly and then leave, for I do not waste my words on those like you.”

“Setting fire to our insides for fun is something of a pastime in the Imperium.” Sajay giggles and then stops when Lavellan turns her whole head to look at him. He shrinks under the glowing golden gaze. He could have sworn her eyes had been brown when they had first arrived. It reminds him of tiger eyes. Like the one in the cage in his room at home. The tiger was locked up but it wasn’t powerless, it was waiting for the door to open, and once it did, well—Sajay might have been spoiled, and he knew it, but he held no belief that that tiger wouldn’t eat him in a heartbeat.

She turns back to look at his father when he has gone silent and still. She speaks with the tone of a woman who has never known fear and never would, walking toward the Archon and poking him in his chest with each little growl she lets loose, her anger shining like an inferno in her eyes, “I tire of your mortal games. I tire of your mortal problems. I did not. Come back. To save people. Like. You.”

The Archon slaps her hand away, the noise ringing loudly in the air. Everyone is up, swords and staffs drawn. Ready to kill. Lavellan and the Archin simply glare at each other before Robecca stammers in to save her husband's life, “If not us...then perhaps...the slaves? We did bring you a very generous gift. To show our support and our thanks for saving the world.” Robecca claps her hands twice and the small party behind her parts as a large cage covered in a red cloth is rolled in through the doors.

Lavellan gives a soft mocking laugh, “Slaves? What use of I of slaves? I have all I need right here. Those who are worthy and have proven their worth. What could possibly have that I would even consider wanting?”

“If you accept this, Lady Lavellan, we will take it as a maker to put up this conversation until dinner.” The Archon said as the cart stopped at the edge of the table.

“I will know this gift before I see it.”

Robecca smiles prettily at Lavellan, walking crisply to the cage as she tugs the cloth away and answers, “I give you...the precursor to the Qunari menace. Behold! A Kossith!”

Lavellan takes a step back, looking at the Kossith in the cage. At least a foot or two taller than Bull, the horns of a ram twisting around its head, the skin white like snow and the eyes a glowing red. Ashen and injured and looking right at Lavellan like it had known her all it's life and is waiting for her to open the cage and welcome it home. Lavellan opens and closes her mouth like a fish, her hand flying to hold her head in place and Dorian can only watch in a sick and detached way as liquid gold runs from her nose. Not blood. Or if it is, it is now gold instead of red.

“Lavellan.” Abelas says and holds her steady, taking out a crisp white cloth to wipe her nose and whispers something in her ear. She nods her head and lowers her hand. She turns with a flourish and walks away. Abelas answers for her, “We agree to parley but release and leave the Kossith. We will meet at dinner to talk again.”

None of them open the cage until the whole of the Archons court is gone. Cassandra does open the cage with one swift kick to the lock. The Kossith looks to the door that leads to the library and then back at Abelas. It’s speech sounds like two voices speaking at once, “Mythal is younger now. We don’t remember her being young. Are we allowed to go and see them?”

“Mythal is new. She is not as she was.” Solas answers as he heals the Kossith with magic, “She will not speak to you yet. Her mind is trying to remember things. Give her a little time.”

“Then we may speak with you, Fen’harel, or perhaps June? Maybe even...Galdauran?”

Solas stops at this, his face tight in confusion and anger as he lowers his hands away from the massive breathing mountain of a Qunari(or what Qunari claim to have come from before reaching their new home and building Par Vollen), “June and Galdauran are in the Fade, locked away since the “Great Betrayal” I staged. Only Mythal and I are here in the mortal plain.”

Dorian decides to speaks before anything else can be said, “Would you like to get those chains off...oh, I’m sorry. We don’t know your name.”

Bull gives a growl as he removes his helmet, “Qunari don’t have names.”

“Qunari don’t. Be we do. You may call us Sardon. We will go and speak with Galdauran. She will have missed us the most.”

Solas stops Sardon with a firm grip on a massive arm. His voice cracks only slightly when he speaks, “You are mistaken.”

Sardon only titles his head—and Dorian can see even under the cloth they had draped on his lower half that he is male and a well hung one at that—before he chuckles, “Fen’harel. We forget...dogs lose their sense of smell. We do as well, but we remember the smells forever. Even faint. June was wood and fire. Galdauran was the wind and happiness. They are here, in the room above, speaking, and I wish to speak with them as well.”

Solas takes a step back, shaking his head, “No. No. I sealed them away. Magic can not fade if it is bound to bone and flesh.”

“Flesh dies.” Cullen says as he crosses his arms and the look that crosses Solas’ face is one Dorian will never forget. Pure fear. He shakes his head and then bolts through the library door and Sardon looks at Abelas. Abelas seems to be torn. Wanting to follow Solas but also wanting to be near Lavellan. Sardon lifts his massive arm up and points to the library door and then to the door that leads to Lavellans tower.

“It’s time to go. Choose.” Sardon says softly as he goes to the library door and holds it open as Cassandra, Cullen, Blackwall and Bull move to follow. Abelas follows after a beat and so does Dorian. He sees symbols on the back of Sardon, swirling and twisting but all in straight lines and evenly spaced down his massive black in different colored inks and each name unique. So many names and yet his back isn’t even half covered. He must feel the stare as they climb the stairs as quickly as they can in single file.

“We are collecting the names of the lovers that went wrong.” he says.

“Oh?”

“We love Galdauran. She loved us too. It is hard to find her. She never remembers us, but we never forget her. So we have her sign her name each time, so we can never forget.”

“Qunari aren’t immortal.” Bull says gruffly over his shoulder as the noise of soft sniffling and frantic whispers reach their ears.

“We are not Qunari.” Sardon answers.

Coles voice waves down to them, cracking with emotion as he speaks, “The tree that is old has rings inside of it, but the tree that is older than that has withered and died. But life can spring anew.”

Sardon only chuckles as they reach the spymasters tower and looks at the scene in front of him, “The lovers that went wrong.”

*******

Lavellan tugs on her hair, ruining all the hard work the maids and servants had put into and not caring one wit about it, trying to silence the voices screaming in her head. Her nose is still bleeding. She can feel it. She runs her fingers over the diamonds and other priceless gems that have formed where the blood has hardened on her dress. What had happened? She had gotten to the Archon and they had greeted each other but, she didn’t remember anything else after. Just looking at that...Qunari?

She had lost time. How did someone even lose what they had? Time is the only constant everyone had in common. She can’t lose that! She’s already losing her mind. She can’t lose time too. She feels her voice crack as she curls her body tighter into itself, hoping the voices have answers, “If we run out of time, where does it go?”

A harsh voice screams at her, _“We are the reckless. Time goes nowhere. It doesn’t exist unless we want it to.”_

Another voice, more high pitched and nasally speaks at the same time, _“Time is a concept, and all concepts can be proven wrong.”_

_“We are the wild youth. Time hold little interest for us. Why worry about time, when you are immortal?”_ this voice is very sultry, but screams just as loud, and speaks along with the other two voices. As though all three of them don’t know how to wait for the other to finish.

A softer voice waits until the screams die down to answer her, soft and old. Like ocean water on her aching head, _“It’s out of my hands. Eventually, everyone runs out time. Even us. If we choose to let it go. But change takes time. And time is something everyone only has a limited amount of.”_

She paces from the fire place to wash basin and stops there. The mirror is ignored as she looks into the water instead. She wipes her eyes and tries to stop the bleeding again. The gold is coating her hand and it won’t come off no matter how much she scrubs at it. She stops after her hands start hurting and grips the basin tightly. She bits her lip before asking her next question, “I don’t know how to fix this. Tell me what to do. Tell me, how can I help people?”

All the voices have an answer it seems.

_“Chasing visions of our futures that will never even matter because the future doesn’t exist for us—”_

_“—one day we'll reveal the truth; that they will die before they get the truth they seek. We can’t love anyone, ever.”_

_“And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones, 'cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone. Better to be numb—”_

_All of them seem to agree on one thing though, “And you caused it.”_

She gives a wordless cry of anger, the anchor on her hand casting out a blindly light as she smashes her fist into the mirror. When the light fades, a smoking mark and a broken mirror are all that is left in the room.

*******

In the tavern, the bard plucks a melancholy tune, her voice soft and full of heartache as she sings. She doesn’t know it, but she won’t remember the song that will bring everyone pause over their late morning ale.

_“I’ve lost it all_

_I’m just a silhouette, a lifeless face that you’ll soon forget.  And my eyes are damp from the words you left, ringing in my head, when you broke my chest._

_ And if you’re in love, then you are the lucky one; cause most of us are bitter over someone. To distract our hearts from ever missing them.”   _


	13. Why are we still here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Brothers and Sisters, weep; for we are free. Weep; for we are a forgotten people. Weep! I tell you, weep! Weep for each other, for yourself, your children and grandchildren and the thousands of generations that will come after. Weep tear of joy, brothers and sisters! Mythal is reborn from her cage. And we are her chosen people!" 
> 
> The noise of the cheers was loud enough to wake the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a short chapter. Sorry about that. Thank you for the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and even reading this. It gives this small person life. Thank you so much and please enjoy.  
> Translations:  
> Athim=Humility

The clearing was filled with people, speaking softly to each other in the ring of light cast by the fire and torches, while white orbs of mage light floated above them. A small stage had been set up before a large tree that withered and dried up, the black bark peeling away to let a foul smell hang in the air. A purple colored sap oozed from large wounds in the bark. Former Red Templar stood on the stage, hands on their swords and faces drawn tight in pain from the ink in their faces. The sign of Mythal done in red ink. Bright enough to see clearly even in the low light. Dawn was far from coming, as an old elf climbed onto the stage.

The clearing fell silent as he stood near the edge, his arms folded behind his hunched back. Warm green eyes and grey hair, a face of wrinkled leather with liver spots. A man of many years, the mark of Mythal all but sagging sadly into the folds of his skin. Such pale and sickly skin it was. The old elf smiled kindly at the large gathering before him. He raised both his arms to the sky and spoke loudly, but clearly, “Brothers and Sisters, before we begin, let us pray. Brother Durgan’Elgara shall lead us in prayer this night.”  

A pretty male elf with wide blue eyes, red hair tied into a braid at the base of his skull(which was clean shaven save for that small section at the base of his skull) and wearing a simple white robe with the symbol of Mythal in the same bright red coloring stitched above his heart. The older elf moved away as Durgan’Elgara took his place. He bowed his head until his chin rested on his collar bone and bent to one knee, arms still raised high into the sky. The Red Templar copied him, along with everyone in the clearing. As he spoke," Mythal, hear our prayers. Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us; lead not into the darkness but deliver us into your holy kingdom, so that we may be forever your blessed children. Mother watch over us."

The crowded became silent but attentive when Athim once again took the stage and spoke to them. As looked out at the crowd, he could see the Dalish, hovering near the edges, unsure. His followers stayed close to the stage and the newer elves, the city elves, some who were only half-elf, stayed closer to the middle and the end of the clearing. Lost children in a cruel world. He would help them to see the path that they should walk. He would be their guide. Even if it meant that they had to step over a mountain of corpses to ensure their enlightenment, then so be it.

“Children of Mythal. Brothers and Sister of the Elven race. I welcome you and implore you to rest your weary bones as I speak. I beg of you, to listen to this old man until he is done speaking and then make your choice. But be warned, all choices have consequences. The choices you have made have brought you here today. I only ask that you please listen to this old man before you cast any judgment on him.”

A voice called out, “And who are you?”

Athim smiled as he squinted into the crowd. A young Dalish woman had yelled from the tree line. He answered her, “Once, when I lived in the city, I was called Harold. Now, I am Athim, for my eyes have been opened. I saw in a dream, the great Mythal reborn; freed from the prison she had sealed away in by the Dread Wolf. It was she who sealed the sky and banished the demons from the land with the use of her magic. She is not the harold of Andraste, no, she is our goddess come back to us, in our time of need!”

“Why change names?” another voice demanded.

“The names of humans do not belong to us. Just as all of Thedas does not belong to them! Why should we forget our names, our culture, our gods, everything that they stole and copied and twisted into their sick version. Ours gods were betrayed by one of their own, and in our moment of weakness the humans destroyed us! Erased us from their religion, their history! They treat us no better than animals and expect us to be grateful for it!” A low murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“Once, we ruled over all the sun touched. The moon and the stars were nothing but weak light compared to our cities, that floated above the clouds. We danced in the Beyond with spirits and vanquished demon with our magic. We used to be immortal! And now, now we weep as our children are killed or sold off to humans. Now, we weep, for we are not better than slaves when we had once been masters!” A louder murmur went through the crowd at this.

A lifted his right hand, a menacing red light engulfing his fist and he shot a beam of it into the tree behind him. It glowed and pulsed red and then the light died. The tree gave a groan as it healed itself. The sap turned to healthy amber and the leaves thick with varying shades of green. The crowd had gone silent as he showed off the hand that brought the tree back to life. He let the light fade and his voice began to rise in pitch as he spoke to the silent crowd before him.

“Mythal is reborn, who is to say that other gods have not been reborn as well? This is why they never answered our prayers! They were gathering their powers to save us!” A few loud voices agreed, “Call me a crazy old man if you choose, but I have seen the truth! I shall weep no more!” A loud wave of agreement washed over Athim.

"Brothers and Sisters, weep; for we are free. Weep; for we are a forgotten people. Weep! I tell you, weep! Weep for each other, for yourself, your children and grandchildren and the thousands of generations that will come after. Weep tear of joy, brothers and sisters! Mythal is reborn from her cage. And we are her chosen people!"

The noise of the cheers was loud enough to wake the dead.

None of them saw that the tree had begun to die again. 


	14. Bad Blood Between Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan can feel her lower begin to tremble as her next life sweeps into her mind, “I was born a noble man to house Trevelyan. My name was Gordon and I lived the life of a knight. I helped to sneak mages across borders when Templars first started to hunt them. I took an arrow to the knee and sword at my neck. I saved a girl of ten years from being killed for being a mage. I was not buried with honor but I died with it. I was Mythal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and for comments, kudos, and bookmarks. Work is gonna be busy here for the next few days and school does start up soon. Damn you college. Anyway, I will try and finish this before then. If not, then I apologize about the delay.

Bad Blood Between Brothers

Solas could feel his heart beating his ribcage sore. The others were behind him, coming up the stairs, and he looked at the scene in front of him in horror. Sera was weeping into Coles shirt, rocking with him as they kneeled on the floor. Cole glowed as his body tried to keep June locked away, or from taking over. This was all his fault. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then spoke quickly, “Cole, on my say, let June go. My brother and I need to talk.”

Sera gave a low noise of pain and he turned to look down at her and Cole pleaded, “Sera, please don’t cry.”

Sera pulled her face away, spotty and red with snot smeared on her cheek and her eyes red, “Fuck you, you tit! I’ll cry all I bloody well want! This sucks, you suck” she pointed at Solas with all the venom of a snake in her finger, “that creepy shite in my head sucks! I hope you choke on a chicken bone!” Solas could hear the others coming up the stairs and summoned the magic to his hand. He needed to pause time for a moment. This was a family matter.

As the others reached the final step at the stop of the stairs, Solas let the magic go and yelled out, “Now!” Cole let June go and time stopped. The others had just gotten to the top step—frozen in mid stride— and Cole was frozen, his body bent double as June curled away and into the air in front of them. Solas reached down and helped Sera up. She wiped at her face with angry swipes. Solas held her steady with a hand on her shoulder. She pushed him away and folded her arms tightly into herself.

June turned his head to look at Solas and scowled as he spoke his name, “Fen’harel.” June then looked to Sera and gave a mirthless snort and gestured with a loose arm, “And little Galdauran. How nice to see my family again.”

Solas had little time for games, “June. How did you get out?”

“A spell.” June chuckled and then folded his arms, “And help. We just wanted to be free and so we sent help. All the good it did us. Mythal sent him back. The same way he was sent to the world before.”

“Who?” Solas demanded.

June gave a tiny shrug with one shoulder and he opened his arms, “The human. Or rather, the Darkspawn.”

Sera gave a low sniff, “That shite Coryphenis?”

June gave her a puzzled look for a moment and then the name clicked. He gave a wide smile as he said “ah” before laughing, “Yes. He was suppose to find a way to open our prison. Locked away all these ages and yet here you two are. Free.” he pointed to Solas and then to Sera, “Reborn.”

Junes form shifted and twisted into itself, blackening and then become transparent once more. Flesh coming through and then rotting. Solas and Sera watched as June seemed unaware of what was happening to him. What happened to all spirits and souls, “June, you need to leave. The world is not kind to spirits or souls, unprotected by the flesh.” Solas pleaded.

“This is too much!” Sera cried out as she covered her ears.

June began to emit a low but headache inducing sound, his form twisting and coloring itself red in his anger, “No. This is perfect. The prison is gone, isn’t it, Fen’harel? The flesh and bone that held us with magic is gone. We could have left at anytime.”

Solas growled low in his throat and slapped a magical barrier around June, “NO. The world will be torn apart. We almost destroyed it once.”

June gave a grunt of effort and wiggled in his magical prison, scowling at Solas, “And whose fault was that? If you had kept in line, Mythal wouldn’t have fought our father. The oceans wouldn’t have risen and killed all those people, wouldn’t have buried our empire under the waves.”

“You are not guiltless in this!” Solas roared at June.

Sera yelled louder than them both, “SHUT IT! It sounds like everyone that was a god or whatever were shitty people, even Quizzy before she was Quizzy.”

They both looked at her and then Solas turned away, his face red in shame, the time magic beginning to shiver as it faded, as he answered her softly, “Yes. We were.”

June gave a huff, “Speak for yourself.”

“I am. I was a horrible man, too prideful to see that my tricks were not taken as such and helped aggravate the rift in our family. But Mythal and that man had fallen out of love long before any of us had been made. The end result was that our people suffered, our empire was lost, and the tormented souls of the Kossith and the twisted outlook of the Qunari have now affected the world as a whole. Sera is right. We were shitty people.”

“I refuse to accept this! Where is Mythal, I demand to speak to her! She will help us even if you won’t.” June yelled at his struggled more. Solas shook his head at his brother.

“Do you believe that?”

“Yes.” June hissed.

Sera scoffed, “Then your arse is where your head should be!”

Solas spoke with each word chosen carefully as June struggled and the time magic slowly fell away like ice off of a cliff side, “She died because of us. Even if she did help you, would you truly put her life in danger again by having her go back to free the others? The moment that Elgar’nan sees her, feels her soul, he will kill her again. And he won’t stop. He’ll let her be reborn over, and over, and over again, let her live a happy life and then rip it all away from her. All because of an imagined slight.”

“It wasn’t—” June began and was then cut off.

“It was! She did not free them! I didn’t free them! She took the fall for me and I had not commited the crime to bring about his ire!”

June yelled at Solas, “Then who freed them? Which one of us opened the doors and used the mirrors to set them free in the mortal plain?”

“What are you two talking about?” Sera yelled twice as loudly.

Solas answered her, “The Kossith. The original thousand. It was the last straw before the Great Betrayal happened.”

“And you caused it.” June snapped.

“No. I didn’t. Mythal didn’t.”

“Then who?” June asked.

Solas gave his brother an even glare as he wrapped him once more in a magical prison, preparing to trap him in a new object until something could be done with him. And to stop him from turning into something worse than a vengeful soul, “Who do you think?”

June was silent as he glared back at Solas. Until something clicked as Solas took his whole essence and locked it away in the jaw bone hanging from his neck. June let out a low growl, “The bastard. We suffered for eons, and he never said anything.”

The magic faded and time returned to normal. The others entered and looked at them. Sera threw up her hands, “THIS IS TOO FREAKY AND SHITE!”

*************

She wakes up face down and in pain. It reminds her of when she had first walked out of the Fade and back to the real world. She pushes herself up and gingerly gets to her feet as the room she is in spins like a top. The room is made of warm wood, a stream runs around the perfectly circular patch of grass she is standing on. Chairs are in front of her, six in total. They look like they haven’t been used in a long time, overgrown with wild flowers and moss. She looks down at the cool spring water and gets down on one knee to reach it.

As she dips her hands in she splashes her face and refreshing coolness stops her head from aching so. When she lifts her head, people are looking down at her from those high backed chairs. That doesn’t surprise her so much, it’s the fact that Flemeth is in the middle chair, smiling(or smirking) down at her. She sits down on the grass, her legs folded under her. She is still in the dress that she had been made. The people in the other five chairs are all very different. A male dwarf at the last chair on the right.

A Qunari female on the last chair on the left. Next to the dwarf sits a human man and next to the Qunari sits a female elf. Below Flemeth a very old man is sitting in the oldest chair, more a part of the trees than anything else. She can’t tell what he used to be. She stares at the elf for a long time and then her face is remembered.

“I know you. You’re the one that they Keeper chose to go to the Conclave. I stole your ticket.”

The elf nods her head, “I was. We chose these forms to speak to you. It is...important.”

“Where am I?”

Flemeth answers her, “This is the place between. The Real World and The Fade do sit as close as you think. We needed to speak to you.”

“I tried to find your daughter. To give her the message.”

“HA! She’ll turn up when the time is right. But that isn’t what we need to speak to you about.”

“Then what do you need to talk to me about?” Lavellan asked.

“Your power and the events that are unfolding in the world.” the dwarf answers.

Lavellan rubs her head, “And who are you?”

All of them look at each other before answering in unison, save the old man, “We used to be Mythal.”

Lavellan takes off her heavy head piece, undoes the braids in her hair and leans back on her hands, “Ok, tell me everything then.”

The Qunari answers her, head bowed in shame, “They light a candle every night, hoping the son I couldn’t be, comes home. When I left, they chased me, and killed me. Said I was wrong. She came to me than, a wisp of life, and so, did I become Mythal. Her power grew in me, and she let me live a life I wanted more than anything. When she said it was time to leave, I did not question it. She had so much for me, and my family was taken care of.”

Lavellan takes off her shoes and dips her feet into the clear water, closing her eyes and smiling as the images of a past life become clear in her mind, no longer tangled and wrong. She lets all of her teeth show in her smile as she speaks the name she used to have, “I used to be...a Qunari mage named Malik Adaar. I was happy. I was Mythal. I had three children and ten grandchildren. And I died in my sleep after...helping a village full of sick people. The Qun was wrong, I was right, and I died happy.”

“There are some secrets I’ll take to my grave. But I’ll be damned if loving you is one of them.” The human answers next, “I fell in love with an elven lass with hair as bright as gold. Her father found out and told mine. And my father said I was no son of his and he killed me while we were hunting. She came to me, and helped me, but sadly, my elven lass had moved on and loved another. But my life was still a grand adventure, so when I died again, I knew it was because it was important.”

Lavellan can feel her lower begin to tremble as her next life sweeps into her mind, “I was born a noble man to house Trevelyan. My name was Gordon and I lived the life of a knight. I helped to sneak mages across borders when Templars first started to hunt them. I took an arrow to the knee and sword at my neck. I saved a girl of ten years from being killed for being a mage. I was not buried with honor but I died with it. I was Mythal.”

The elf with her clan mates face spoke next, “Truth and beauty are wonderful words, my darling, but an arrow to the heart is still an arrow to the heart, I have to live with the choices I’ve made. I am alone with the things I have done. I took a face that did not belong to me, so you would understand. You are never going to be alone, but you will never wear the face you were born with again. That...is true loneliness. Keep the people who have loved you and who you have loved locked away in your heart and soul, for immortality is a heavy burden to bear. Their love will ease it for you.”

Lavellan stops leaning on her hands, one hand going to cover her mouth as she begins to sob, her other pressing into her heart. She wants to weep at this life she had lived. The old man speaks for the first time, “Cry, child. There is no shame in it. You were born crying, and most of us have died crying. Let your tears flow, and let them take the negative emotions with them. Pain is felt in all ways, but crying helps to ease the pain in your heart, where your hand can not reach.”

“I-I-I killed p-pe-people for money,” Lavellan sobs out, letting the tears fall down her face, clutching her heart, “I di-di-didn’t care. I was bo-rn to a whore and I killed her. My own mother! For money. I got cocky. Another a-a-a-assassin killed me. An arrow to the heart, and Mythal came to me and I tried to be...good.”

“Let it all go, child.” the old man says softly.

“I us-use-used to be R-r-r-ruby. I was a Crow. I was Mythal and my short but immortal life was horrible. I felt no love and it hurt.”

She cried until she had no more tears, hugging her body tightly, her feet being pushed gently by the cool stream. Her body shakes as her emotions are spent. A thick white streak had gradually appeared in her hair as she cried. When she wiped the last of the salt from her cheeks, most of the chairs are empty. Only the dwarf, the old man, and Flemeth remain. She doesn’t know it, but one eye has changed too. A simple but bright golden eye now sits above her left cheekbone.

Flemeth speaks this time, her wisdom shining through, a final message, “The ocean doesn’t become dangerous to someone just because a storm is brewing. Just like the fact that the terrible things that happened to you didn’t make you who you are. You were always you, it just took you a little longer than other to see it.”

“Yeah. I got that now.” Lavellan says as she pulls her feet from the water and stands. Flemeth nods her head and is gone like a mirage. Lavellan turns to look at the dwarf who gives a low chuckle at her. Lavellan stands her ground.

“The promise of an eternal afterlife does seem to make the mundane day to day affairs look rather pointless in hindsight.” the dwarf says as he leans on one fist.

“I was born as Edward Cadash. Son of Hiram Cadash. I killed Darkspawn as a member of the Legion of the Dead. I died when an orc stomped on me. She came to me, in that dark place. I held no talent for magic but everyone swore that when my arrows flew it was like magic and so did I become Mythal. When the third blight came, it was time for me to leave; I followed a Grey Warden into those tunnels, and I never came back.”

Lavellan held her head high and she had no more tears to shed. Cadash nodded his head and he too faded away. She looked at the old man and he nodded his head slowly at her, “What have you learned, little one?”

Lavellan doesn’t break eye contact as she speaks, her voice firm and eyes clear, “If there is a way to change time, then that means that there are different worlds that play alongside the one we are living in now. So—by that logic—if every possible universe exist somehow in the infinity of time, then the story changes. It means that in at least one of those different timelines, a timeline must exist where I have all the same memories right up until the point that I died on this earth, but where I don’t die. I live on and I don’t even know that thousands of me have already died or haven’t even born yet.”

The old man looks at her for a long, long time, before asking, “Is that your logic then? Do unto others because they deserve it?”

“You won’t live forever in their memories. The way you treated them will.” Lavellan says as she steps onto the water(for she had never learned to swim, hoping that she was right and she would sink to the bottom) and her feet did not fail her. She walked across the water, over and up the fallen trees and stood before the old man who just smiled at her. She hadn’t noticed her hair gain another streak of white or that magic now flowed in her a cool and calm as the little river she had placed her feet in. She took a deep breath, “I don’t want a world without sorrow or pain—even though it’d be great not to have those things—but I want them to mean something. I don’t want people to suffer for no reason at the end of it all.”

“I was born a slave. I worshipped in the temple of Falon’Din. And one day he started taking us away, making us monsters. I thought, I would die, but then you came and we were free. A small piece of you lived on in me; I was never Mythal, but I did find something in your old palace. This,” the old man said as he reached into his eye and pulled out a dagger of glass, “is all that is left of that which used to be the first mirror. Take it back with you, child, you’ll know what to do with it when the time comes.”

“How do I go home?”

“Ask.”

“I would like go home now, please.”


	15. A is(NOT) for absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halward turned to look at Dorian, “Maker above, forgive us our sins and grant unto us absolution, as we forgive those who have sinned against us. I remember telling you that often, as a child, when you would argue with me about blood magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blegh. Work. Blegh. Work. Here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy and thank you everyone for reading. Also, have some Dorian feels.

A is(NOT) for absolution

Elgar’nan kicked the cooling corpse of his first born away from him, the body hitting what was left of another one of those traitors. He scowls down at the blood staining his robes and armor. The darkness closes in on him and he shuts his eyes, summoning light. It shows the blood that is filling the space around him and he lets it dim instead. He was justified in his anger. The light that had once been Mythal burns against his chest before shining out and taking her form. The final time he had seen her before she had also felt his wrath.

Her long silver hair braided and tied up into a bun, a golden arrow holding it in place and wrapped in golden silk. Her armor was different pieces of different types of armor all the same shade of black with silver accents and infused with her own magic as a protector. All the good it had done her in the end. The gorget she wore had an image of birds flying with star shaped bolts. The cuirass and faulds showed a sunburst and stars respectively. Her gauntlets had poisoned tips, making them glow red. They had moonflowers on them.

Her dress under the armor had once been his favorite. A warm sunny yellow, but faded with age. The edges held sunflowers on them. She wore a white sash with it that wrapped around her waist and covered her left breast, before hanging off her left shoulder. The sash had a red stripe down the middle of it. From her ears hung several earrings, the bottom connecting to the top with a thin gold string. The other hung low enough to tickle her neck.

She gazed him just like she had on the day he had pulled her heart from her chest. Her eyes soft but alight with pity for him. They had been outlined in a dark grey kohl color, while powdered silver covered her eyelids. Mouth set in a line of disappointment, painted a soft petal pink. Her cheeks flush with color but not her own. She had never looked more beautiful than the day she had died. Her ghost turned her head from him to look at the children that had once been his.

He snapped at the ghost, “Do not look at them like that. They betrayed me. Just like you. I had to teach them a lesson. And once June comes back, he’ll join them. And you once said I was a horrible lover. Never letting you get what you wanted; well, look, I sent you company.”

“I had a family before you. I had a brother, and a sister, a mother and a father, cousins and uncles with aunts and aunts with uncles; I was loved before you. Then you took everything from me. My family. My life. My virginity. And then you killed me when I was no longer an amusing toy to you.”

“I loved you. And you cheated me out of what was mine.” Elgar’nan hissed as he swiped his hand through her. Her ghost didn’t even flinch. She turned back to look at him, “I forget that this isn’t even you. Your soul is gone, and this is just a memory of her. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“You never listened to me.”

“You tried to control me!”

“NO. You wanted to control me and I didn’t let you. I made my own children and even now they hold you.”

Elgar’nan tried to wrap his hands around her throat but they went through. He tried to slap her and even threw a fire spell at her, but her memory didn’t even flinch. She once cried out so beautifully when he had struck her. She raised an eyebrow at him and he gave a cry of anger before pacing in front of her, “I will be free. And when I find your soul, I will break it into so many fragments that you will NEVER be able to become you again. I will raise my empire, my kingdom, up from the ashes and I will rule once more. I will not be denied and when you are truly are dead I will be free again!”

“You’ve got a vengeful heart.” Mythal said with a sad bow of her head, what was once her memory even leaving him in the dark.

**********

Dorian and the others had been filled in about what had happened before their arrival. Solas and Abelas, along with the other elves, has all gone to gardens to go to their little section of the castle to discuss what June being here meant. As if they didn’t have enough trouble already. Sera had stormed off and gone back to the tavern and Cole—the poor boy—had limped off to follow Solas. Everyone had wanted to argue and Dorian had wanted to hear none of it. He had left and gone to pace along the battlements when his father caught him. Dorian had never wanted to slap a man with the sharp and pointy end of his staff then he did right then.

Halward—the man who had once been his father, the man whom had once told him that he was proud of Dorian and that Dorian was loved—looked truly shocked to see his son. He even looked down at his feet before quickly looking Dorian in the eye once more. Dorian once longed for the days to his father had never known about his inclinations. The days before bad blood had come between them. Halward moved the left of the stairway Dorian was trying to climb. Dorian collected himself before moving up the stairs to stand next to his father. Halward went to move away but Dorian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

At Redcliff they had spoken but Dorian had never forgiven his father. Halward had never asked for it outright either. They had thrown words at each other before Halward and turned his back on Dorian before telling him that they were so alike in their pride. Halward had been right.

“Can we speak?”

“Of course.” Halward said and Dorian lead the way to his room. He put on an extra log in the fire and took down the ale he enjoyed. Halward sat down in the only other chair in the room. Dorian had long since moved into Bulls room. His room was almost spartan, since he was all but permanently living in the tavern. As Dorian poured the ale Halward spoke softly.

“I feel like I’ve become the villain in the story of my life.”

Dorian looked up at Halward and gave him one of the glasses as he took a seat. Dorian tapped a finger on his and then answered, “You’re not a villain, father. You did something I may never forgive.”

“I know...and I know that I must earn that forgiveness, even if I don’t, I have to try. I did something no father should ever try and do to his son.”

Dorian nodded his head and then took a sip of ale before speaking, “Do you know when I first knew that women held no sexual interest for me?”

“No.”

“Ten. I was at that silly party hosted by Magister Jett for his son. You and all the other Magisters were outside, sipping red wine and all of us were inside, sipping fruit punch, trying to be like you. I looked up as an elf was pouring a refill for me and when I saw him I thought that he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. You and mother used to tell me about your meeting at the circle and the way it felt. I feel that now. I felt that then.”

Halward made a face as he took a sip of the ale and coughed before pushing the glass away. Dorian smirked and took the glass away.

Halward wiped his mouth with a cloth he pulled from his sleeve. He put the cloth away and asked, “Do you have someone here?”

“Yes. I love him very much.”

“Well...good. Your mother would kill me if I went home and told her you hadn’t settled down at your age yet. She demands letters and a dinner. She’ll not settle for less.”

Dorian felt a laugh bubble out of him, as his mind brought forth the image of his mother—a plump women with too many freckles and who would rain kisses down on him when he could try and hide in her skirts. She had never liked to swim and thus the servants had taught him, but she had loved him all the same—and Dorian knew when he had to admit defeat.

“I will send letters. Dinner is not negotiable at the time. Not yet. But I will write more.”

Halward only nodded and stood, “Good. I’ll let her know. We both missed you very much, Dorian.”

Before Halward could leave Dorian asked a question that had nagged at him, “How did mother take it, when you told her the reason why I ran away?”

Halward was silent for a beat too long before he answered, never turning to look at Dorian, “I told her the truth, I could never lie to her. She screamed and swore and almost did kill me. I asked her if she cared that the Pavus name would end and she told me that she knew it all along. She loved you more than anything in the world, and who you loved was never important enough to disown you. We tried for so long for a child and you were the only one that lived. Your mother would have torn the world apart to keep you safe, before doing what I did. She’s like you, angry and rightfully so, and I must try and earn the love I once never had to work for.”

Dorian grit his teeth before doing something he rarely did. He swallowed his pride, “Don’t be stupid. We still love you the same, and that’s the problem. We love you so much that the anger is twisting with it. It’s why we want to forgive you, but we know that this is unforgivable, and you must earn our forgiveness before we give it. Absolution is not promised to the saints, only the sinners.”

Halward turned to look at Dorian, “Maker above, forgive us our sins and grant unto us absolution, as we forgive those who have sinned against us. I remember telling you that often, as a child, when you would argue with me about blood magic.”

“I don’t.” Dorian sniffed as Halward sat back down and took the glass of ale.

“I do. Your mother would roll her eyes at us while we argued. You roll your eyes like her, but you bob your head like me. She would tease me when we were children about how bird like it was. A preening peacock.”

Dorian laughed, “Pavus, indeed.”

 

 


	16. Nails for breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera gave him the stink eye and without even missing a beat spoke, "I think yer a right tit and that you don't know your mouth from your arse. I swear that the shite that comes outta you would make a chamber pot look clean, you limp-dicked fucker." She would never admit it, but seeing the look of abject horror on the collected noble faces put her in a good mood that she could pretend to forget about all of the creepy shite that had happened to her and the people she loved for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly about Sera, Solas, and Vivienne. The crazy cult makes a cameo too. Thank you again for comments, kudos, bookmarks, reading this, reading this and clicking away cause you thought it was something different, clicking and reading until you got to smut, and just in general looking at this. It makes me feel loved. So stay happy my friends!

Nails for breakfast

Sera knocked arrow after arrow, each one hitting the dummies in the head. She doesn’t miss. She’s never missed. And know she knows why and she HATES it. Inky being a god was bad enough but her too? It was too much! She pulls back too hard on the drawback and the string breaks, striking her under the eye.

Sera was never a proper lady, upbring be damned, and she swore up a storm as she stomped her feet, “You cunt bubble! You bloody piece of crap! A pain in my arse is what this damn bow is! Shite! I swear to the bloody lady parts of Adraste this shite so fucked a whore would be jealous! FUCK! Fuckit-fuckit-fuck-fuck shite!”

“I have never heard so many words with so little meaning in one breath.”

Sera spins around, a glare on her red face, blood dripping from the cut under her eye. The Qunari or whatever had followed her down to the tavern, and into the training yard. He would go and get her more arrows and she had ignored him and list of names. Sardon—or whoever the fuck he is or was—didn’t seem to mind her anger or the fact that she talked weird. Inky had taken a while to figure out the way her mind worked, but this Sardon, he knew without even trying. He always had that smile on his face. The love-sick, kicked-puppy, my-whole-world-is-in-front-of-me-and-being-stupidly-cute, lover smile.

Sera knew that she had given that look to people and they had given it right back, before things had gone tits up and they broke apart. Her last fling had lasted two years but she had moved on to different things and Sera had stayed with the friends of Red Jenny. Sardon leaned against the fence of the training yard, one hand holding his face and the elbow digging into the wood. The Iron Bull had never let his claws get long enough to be scary, but looking at the impressive daggers that framed an albino face, Sera could admit being a little intimidated. They hadn’t really spoken after the whole...elfy god thing up in the tower. He had called her that horrid elf name and she had snapped at him to never call her that because she wasn’t that name, damn him. Sardon had asked for her name and when she told him to fuck off he had only smiled and introduced himself.

She threw the bow to the ground and gave it sound kick, sending it flying away and hitting the stone wall a few yards away. Sardon stood and got her a new bow and new arrows before going back to his post. She knew she had been an ass, but words were hard. This was weird and words were hard. She turned her back to him, and drew an arrow, “Sera.” The arrow gave as good as she did and it went through the wooden head of the next dummy. Sardon only clapped his hands in answer. When he stopped a different set reached her ears and she turned.

She wished she had stayed in bed. Some noble brat of one of those funny looking Tevinter mages had come to watch her, standing at least two feet away from Sardon and three behind, clapping slow with a smirk on his face; when had had he even gotten there? Sera felt the itch in her fingers to knock another arrow. Right into his face. The boy stopped clapping and gave her a mocking bow before standing up and speaking, “Impressive. I think father would like to hire you. After he sewed your mouth shut, of course.”

Sardon turned to look at the boy and then looked back at Sera, “This is the child of the man here to see Mythal. Sajay.”

The boy—Sajay—picked up a rock and threw it at Sardon, who swatted it away like one does a fly. His face had twisted in a rage and Sera could feel her own anger rising to the challenge. Sajay spoke with a scowl and crossed arms, tapping his foot, “Tell this beast he may not address me in such an informal fashion, Miss Sera. I am a mage and will spoken to with respect. Do I make myself clear, or am I using too many big words for your tiny brains. I suspect that I am. If so, then I apologize.”

A small group of Vintners it seemed had gathered. Sera HATED nobles. Without meaning too, the women she had once called mother sprung into her head. A lesson. If you can not win a fight with action, win it with words that will not only shock but off put your opponent. She had been speaking about high society, but Sera had taken the lesson to heart. She remembered a lot of things about the women formerly known as mother.

Sera gave him the stink eye and without even missing a beat spoke, "I think yer a right tit and that you don't know your mouth from your arse. I swear that the shite that comes outta you would make a chamber pot look clean, you limp-dicked fucker." She would never admit it, but seeing the look of abject horror on the collected noble faces put her in a good mood that she could pretend to forget about all of the creepy shite that had happened to her and the people she loved for a moment.

Sardon laughed.

Sajay gave a right scream and tried to fling a fireball at her, but a woman that looked like him caught his hand and lowered it. She pulled him away by his ear and the other ‘Vints followed.

“I think I don’t know as much as I should.” Sardon said once they were out of earshot. Sera gave him a once over and he turned to smile at her again, “I hope that this time, you’ll let me help you before trying to kill me.”

Sera couldn’t help herself, her anger about him faded away, “Oh yeah? Who was I when I tried that?”

“A woman by the name of Arya Flame-Heart.”

“I was an Avvar? Get out!”

“I knew you when you were a Qunari.”

Sera felt her heart quicken, “Did I have horns?”

Sardon shook his head, “No. But you had an impressive rack that made everyone swoon. Especially the ladies.”

Sera jumped to straddle the fence next to him and leaned on her hands with a smile on her face, troubles momentarily forgotten, “I think I’m gonna like having you around.”

Sardon’s face was blank and his voice monotone, “Be still my beating heart, she likes me.” Sera punched Sardon in the arm and he chuckled before giving her a gentle push that almost sent her to the ground.

*******

Solas could feel June rattling the bars of his new cage as he held the wolf jaw bone between his hand, while the others spoke in hushed whispers about the news. If June and the others came back, then they could also still have servants. They could still hold a grudge. Skyhold was under threat. Solas cared about none of it. His mind was elsewhere. The past haunted him more than he cared to admit, even though Cole knew it well enough that he often tried to help.

Solas did not need help, he needed an army. He needed Mythal. The goddess that had once risen entire mountains so far into the sky that they touched the void of space, who had once cursed a man to have a touch that would kill the people he loved and turned his food into ash as punishment. The Mythal that had grabbed his mortal soul from perdition and pushed life back into it. The Mythal who had looked at him once and saw someone worth saving. A son she had once been proud of. A son who had failed her.

“The mountains can provide some protection. Mythal enjoyed the cold and the dark, the others did not. Their drones will not be able to hold against us for long.” one of them said, her voice tinged with despair. Solas barely looked up.

Abelas answered her fears instead, “We must defend this place. Our empire has fallen but we will not. First we must deal with these shem and then we may worry about the other Creators.”

“We will die from old age before we defeat them!” someone snapped.

Solas did twitch at this. Mythal had never had a chance to BE old. Versions of her had grown old, had lives that he had past to see if she knew who she was. She had been taken when she was thirteen years old, and had died at twenty-six. Her life had been spread over eons, but she had never had a chance to leave the Fade. Elgar’nan had never permitted it. And Mythal had always been too cautious to try his hand.

For a short while at least.

She had held him close to her before she had left for her final battle and whispered into his ear that she was proud of him. He looked at them, his people—her people—and stood. They had all gathered around the Eluvian. He stood in front of it and they all watched him. Mythal was dead and Lavellan was here. She had saved the world and she would save them. For better or worse, they had Lavellan and she had them.

He did not let his voice waver, nor his courage as he spoke, “Do not regret growing older, it is a privilege denied to many.”

The Eluvian glowed a bright blue and he moved away from it as Lavellan climbed out it. Her hands clutching the floor and a foot swinging up to help her. He dropped the jaw bone, and June with his anger, and helped her from the mirror. When his eyes met hers he felt his heart stop. She had aged and she had changed. He could feel the magic in her. He held her hands tightly.

“I’m home.” she said.

Solas pulled her into a tight hug, “Welcome home, Lavellan.”

As she returned his hug, he could feel a glass shard hidden under the skin of her wrist. Everything was coming to a head. He could feel it by the pricking of skin where the shard touched.  

*********

The runes that had been painted in blood along the street leading to the palace had been decoded. There is no magic in the world. The Empress was livid and was demanding answers. Vivienne had written to all the remaining circle leaders outside of the empire and had only gotten two letters in response back. The runes were elvhen, older than most of the ones seen. At least Glory Age if not older. The second letter had almost made Vivienne mad enough to curse.

A lady never cursed.

The circle in Starkhaven was willing to help, but the prince—Sebastian—had demanded that in exchange for his mages help the Inquisition send aid with his war with Kirkwall. He expressed that a strong alliance would be best, via marriage, to any lady of noble blood. Vivienne had written back at Cassandra was soon to be Divine and thus out of the question, while Josephine was married to Blackwall. Instead of the grand enchanter writing back, Sebastian Vale had written instead, sealed with his crest. He would not marry a mage, an old mage at that, but he would consider Lavellan. Even an Elf-blooded child was better than having no heir at all. Vivienne had set the letter on fire and informed the Empress.

The cult that had formed around Lavellan was making her angry, but the insult to Lavellan and any child she may or may not have was too far.

“I have a half a mind to send a crow to visit dear Lord Vael. I think I would enjoy seeing his eyes floating in a jar, Madame De Fer.” Celine gushed as she wrote missives at her desk. Her lover, the elf, put a calming hand on her shoulder. Vivienne had seen her often at court but never bothered to see just how much Celine loved her. The Empress was not angry because of Lavellan, but for her. If Lavellan had not stepped in, then Celine would be dead.

Celine might have played The Great Game better than most—almost as good as Vivienne herself—but she would never forget a life debt. The country would be thrown into chaos if people forgot life debts as often as a dandy man forgot his hat at an illicit affairs home.

“He is much too old for our darling Lady Lavellan.” Vivienne agreed as she took a sniff of the wine in her glass, while she lounged on the faint couch near the window. The setting sun had turned it from red to firestorm. The taste was wonderful. She would have to bring a few bottles back to Skyhold for Dorian and Varric. Lavellan would need more dresses as well. Celine would faint if the girl showed up in a uniform again.

Celine looked up from her missives and leaned back in her plush seat. Her face made of porcelain as she thought. Vivienne waited. Finally, she spoke, “I’m sending a letter to Lord Vael. He will understand his place when speaking of my dear friend. Lady Lavellan has asked me for nothing, save to be allies. I have people in my court who have done much less and asked for much more.”

“Indeed.”

“I am also sending you back, with good news. Lady Lavellan is welcome to hide here until this...cult...has been cured. I will not risk a brave soul like hers up in those backwater woods.”

Vivienne chuckled, “She won’t come. She enjoys those backwater woods. But I will tell her. What do you plan to do about this cult inside the city?”

Celine could have killed a dragon with the look that came over her face, “The Dark Hand will take care of them for me.”

“May the Maker have mercy on them.” Vivienne said with a bored tone and a sip of wine. She hoped that they suffered.


	17. B is(NOT) for benediction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She swiped her hand across his neck and blood flew into the air and came down on her like heavy rain. The room filled with screams and shouts. The fire and the torches dimmed until it was dark and then, like a flash bomb had gone off, it was light once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan and Dorian are the biggest trolls and rope Solas and Abelas into their plan. Vivienne comes home in style. The Cult fucks up.

B is(NOT) for benediction

Josephine almost had a heart attack when Lavellan came back for the early dinner. She was sitting in her chair, feet tucked under her and speaking with Solas who sat on her right. Abelas was sitting on her left, listening. She had taken off the well made dress and put herself into a commoners cloth. A high necked pastel blue dress with a softer blue used on the seams. She had taken her hair out and combed it down to once more lie flat. But the sudden change in dress wasn’t what caught the eye.

Two very thick strips of white ran like an arrow piercing a heart through her dark brown hair. One eye now glowed golden. Before Josephine could move in to make any type of delay, The Archon and his wife walked in. Their son looked very put out but followed after them. Lavellan didn’t even turn to look at them as Solas explained something to her in a low voice. Elvhen words lost to those present in the room. The Archon and his family took their seats.

Lavellan only nodded her head as Solas finished and then turned her attention to her guest. Cassandra had also forgone the dress she had worn. She looked better in armor. Lavellan leaned back into her chair, arms loose and her face not hidden by years of playing The Great Game. Josephine would have fainted if she had not been made of sterner stuff. She instead took her seat with grace. After Blackwall pulled it out and pushed her back in.

Such a gentleman, her gruffy husband.

The Archon broke the silence, “I do hope that you had a pleasant day, my dear Lady Lavellan. I also hope that my gift was well received.”

Abelas and Solas tried to cover their chuckles by coughing. Lavellan only smirked. Josephine had a bad feeling about what it was that they had planned. She looked to Cassandra, who only shook her head. So Lavellan had only told the two of them. Dorian looked to be in a happy mood. Josephine narrowed her eyes.

She loved a good play.

“I will be brief, Archon. Leave. And don’t come back.” Lavellan said with a flick of her wrist, as though she was swatting away a dust mite. The Archon let his lips curl only slightly before smothering it with a smile. He leaned onto the table with his elbows, head titled to the side. Eyes cold and face hard.

His wife was looking at her hands. His son looked put out as he slumped in his seat. Josephine waited.

“I have come a long way to meet you, Lady Lavellan. I will not be denied.”

Lavellan was known to do many thing when threatened. Smile. Make a sassy comeback. Attack the person who was threatening her. Josephine was expecting one of these thing, or all three, to happen. But not for Abelas and Solas to outright chuckle while Lavellan a snort to cut off her laugh. It didn’t work because once the noise left her mouth all three of them burst into laughter.

The Archon was taken back. As the laughter died, Lavellan calmed enough to shake her head and then give him a condescending smile. Josephine could see the anger rear up in him.

Lavellan spoke slowly to him, as though he was an invalid, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Archon. There are five rules when dealing with immortal elves. Would you like to know them?”

“I am all ears, Lady Lavellan.” The Archon said as large feast was brought before him and his family but not to the inner circle. The son began to eat in gusto and the wife picked at the greener things. Lavellan only smiled wider. A cat that had caught the canary. The Archon ate slowly. Lavellan put one elbow on the table, leaning her head on her hand while the other lied flat. Josephine could see that she had put her feet down and had crossed them at the ankles as well.

“The first rule,” Lavellan said, “is that you should speak to us with a polite tone. Just because we live with nature doesn’t mean that we don’t like be spoken to civilly. We live for a very long time and our grudges can last just as long. We can make it very hard for your mortal relations to be happy. Very hard.”

The son spoke, his mouth full, “Shouldn’t you knife-ears earn the respect?”

The whole of the inner circle turned to glare at the boy. Such a slur to a host, Josephine would have been dragged out by her ear at his age. But she had been raised with manners. Abelas answered him, “Respect your elders, boy. We have lived through things you know of. We only have the added benefit of looking young forever, where your kind wither and die, like rotten fruit from a dead tree.”

“Well said.” Solas chuckled.

“Lady Lavellan!” The Archon snapped, “Your slaves-”

“The second rule,” Lavellan snapped back, a frown on her face, “is about accepting gifts. Like the clothing and rooms I let you use. Funny thing about those.”

“What about them?” the wife asked softly, her fork set down on her plate. Solas was the one to answer her fears.

“Be very cautious when doing so. Many gifts will have unforeseen side effects. If a gift is offered, accept it, but if you do not trust the one who offered it, do not hesitate to destroy it. Salt water is always a good cleanser.”

“I...I beg your pardon?”

Solas turned to Lavellan and put up one hand to speak into her ear. What should have been a whisper was heard clearly in the silence as the inner circle watched. Abelas had even leaned in close, a mockery of trying to hear, “They don’t know about the curse. Foolish thing.”

Abelas shook his head sadly, as though all of them should have known about this curse, “They did erase us. If they had kept any part of our history alive, they would know all about the curse and how to reverse it.”

“Sad but true.” Lavellan nodded sagely before raising her voice to speak to the Archon, who had gone pale, “I’m sorry, where were we?”

“Your cursed my court and family?” The Archon said in a hushed voice of horror, his fork dropping loudly to his plate.

Lavellan snapped her finger as though remembering where the conversation had cut off, “That’s right! The rules! Silly me. What number did we leave off at?”

“Rule three.” Dorian said with a happy smile and a glazed look on his face.

“Yes. Thank you. Abelas, why don’t you tell them this rule?”

“Of course,” he said in airy but bored tone, “the third rule is simple. The third is regarding information. If an elf gives you information, do not thank them. You may say you appreciate their assistance, but thanking is tantamount to admitting a debt owed. The same is for if an elf is given information. You now owe us a debt.”

“And if we don’t fulfill it?” the son snapped as he threw his napkin onto the table.

“Then we curse you and your blood forever and for always.” Solas said he waved for wine to be brought to the inner circle. But still not food.

“Do you like the food?” Lavellan asked.

“Yes.” the wife answered, her hands shaking as she tried to sip her wine.

“Good, the next rule has to do with food.” Lavellan said with a smile as she was given a small glass of spiced cider. She didn’t drink. Unless Bull was celebrating killing a dragon.

“What did you do?” The Archon hissed, a spell gathering in his hands. Lavellan didn’t even try to look concerned.

“The fourth rule is simple. Even a human like you could understand it.” Abelas said with mirth before drinking his wine.

“Don’t eat the food given to you by an elf. It binds your body to them.” Solas said.

The room was silent. A room as large as the great hall was never silent. But now it was. Lavellan ran her finger along the rim of her cup, the deadly smile still in place. Watching. The Archon let the spell fade as he stood. No one moved as he marched up to Lavellan and leaned down, using the table as a support, to hiss at her.

“Liar.”

Lavellan chuckled, “Almost. It takes more than one meal. Look at Dorian, for example.”

The Archon did and then back to her.

Solas snapped his fingers, “Kneel.”

Dorian kneeled.

Abelas gave him a sidelong look and held out his empty glass, “Get me more wine.” Dorian stood and Abelas snapped his fingers at him, like a bad dog, “He told you to kneel.”

Dorian kneeled and took the glass. He returned with the wine and his head bowed. The Archon stepped back in terror, eyes wide and body shaking. Lavellan titled her head and held out her hand, the one with the anchor, and helped Dorian to his feet.

“What have you done?” The Archon said. Josephine glanced at his wife and son. They clung to each other as the air became heavy. Josephine blinked. When had the air become so thick and choking? The room was moving, like how a ship did in rough water.

Subtle but felt.

“Would you like to know the last rule, Archon?” Solas asked. his eyes glowed so brightly.

He shook his head as he bumped into the table his family sat at.

“It’s the most important one.” Abelas said with a slow smile. Josephine shook her head. His eyes were glowing too.

Lavellan stood and made her way to stand in front of the Archon, placing her anchored hand onto his collarbone, “The last rule, is the most important one. Names have power. Never tell an elf yours unless you plan on being theirs forever. Like Dorian. Mind, body and soul are mine. All because he told me his name, ate my food, accepted my gifts, and treated me with respect. He is happy and he can never leave; just like you and your court.”

She swiped her hand across his neck and blood flew into the air and came down on her like heavy rain. The room filled with screams and shouts. The fire and the torches dimmed until it was dark and then, like a flash bomb had gone off, it was light once more. The Archon clutched at his neck, his wife sobbed and his son had all but passed out. Lavellan was back in her chair, Dorian wasn’t in the room, and no one had moved. Josephine looked to Blackwall. He was as shaken as her.

“I...what happened?” The Archon whispered.

“I killed you and brought you back. Now leave. And don’t you ever, EVER, come back to my kingdom.” Lavellan hissed at him, her eyes flashing red. Josephine had never seen someone run so fast, leaving his wife and child to try and catch up. One of which was passed out from fear. The room was silent once the door slammed shut.

Before anyone could say anything, the sound of Dorian laughing made everyone turn to look at the chair that the Inquisitor used to judge. He came out from behind it and when he and Lavellan looked at each, they broke down into giggles. Solas and Abelas let out heavy sighs and took deep drinks.

“It was...all a lie?” Cassandra said in awe.

“Of course!” Dorian chuckled as he took the spiced cider from Lavellan and drank the last of it, making a face before continuing, “We needed him to leave. What better way than to make him think Lavellan was going to turn him into a slave. Master do not enjoy being given orders.”

“And now we can focus on a new task.” Leliana said as she stood.

“The cult.” Cullen sneered.

“And what a name they have chosen!” Blackwall said with mocking glee, “Apotheosis. What does it even mean given their deeds?”

Solas stood as well, helping Lavellan to her feet, “The word itself means climax. The highest point that you can go. They wish to ascend Lavellan back into god-hood. By blood sacrifice.”

**********

Vivienne had half a mind to shock the driver of her carriage. The other half was being persuaded to agree. The man was nice enough, didn’t talk much, and treated her like a proper lady of the court. But he had a bad habit of smoking elf-root. The smell alone made the eyes water. And he insisted on singing. Old sailor songs.

Out of tune.

Loudly.

At night.

“One by one, they follow me, laughing, drowning in the sea.

The moon did shine, on that bloody night, that kingdom by the sea.

The Maker reached down, with every face frowning, and the moon was the only one who did see, that kingdom sink into the sea.

One by one, they follow me, marching, drowning in the sea.

The moon did shine, on that bloody night, but there was no longer a kingdom by the sea.

The king and his men killed the queen in her bed,

her soul not bond to her bones, and the kingdom of the sea was gone,

for the moon was the only one to see,

That kingdom by the sea.

One by one, they follow me, laughing, drowning, as we sink to the forgotten kingdom at the bottom of the sea.”

Vivienne couldn’t take it anymore. She used her staff to rap the top of the carriage and the singing stopped. She composed herself, “Sir, do you perhaps think, if it is not too much trouble, to sing softer?”

“Oh...‘course, Madame.” he said.

Vivienne nodded her head and closed her eyes as leaned back in her seat. She was almost asleep when the singing started up once more.

“There was an hag, who lived down by the tavern, with eyes like summer and hips wider than-”

It was going to be a long trip back. Vivienne reached into her pocket and clutched the gift she had wrapped by hand. She smiled and tried to block out the singing.

 

 


	18. Tacks for Snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan made sure that Sera was safely up the stairs with Bull helping her along to her room before turning to look at Cole, who had been hovering near them all night. He gazed at her with his wide eyes, sad and knowing. And old man's eyes. She smiled at him warmly, bitterly, and reached up to touch his cheek, “We’ll laugh about this someday.” 
> 
> Cole stepped away, hurt clear on his face, “No...we won’t.” 
> 
> Lavellan had thought that she had gotten better at lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE BE AWARE. RAPE IS IN THIS CHAPTER. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ THEN PLEASE LEAVE THIS CHAPTTER. AGAIN: RAPE IS IN THIS CHAPTER!!!!  
> Fenhawke in this chapter. Some Dragon Age Origins too. Dorian is a good bro and Krem is just about sick of your shit Cullen Rutherford.
> 
> Translations:  
> Athim: humility

Tacks for snacks

Alistair Theirin had never wanted the throne. He had been happy as a Grey Warden. Killing Dark Spawn. Killing the Archdemon. Mahariel and Zevran sharing his bed, taking his breath away, making him feel so loved with what seemed like so little effort on their behalf, or his for that matter. But Mahariel was dead. Her noble deed remembered forever, and Zevran a broken man.

Not that Alistair was better off.

People would never understand, and hadn’t tried to, when he refused to marry that bitch. Mahariel had made him strong with her unwavering faith in her gods. In her faith that her friend, Tamlen, was still alive. She had been strong because to her, being weak meant that you might let down the people who needed you. And she never wanted to let anyone down. Until she saw Tamlen again and killed him. She had cried silent tears for weeks on the road and had hidden her sobs into his or Zevrans chest.

Morrigan had provided a way out of the ultimate sacrifice and she hadn’t taken it; too noble, too proud, to fucking righteous to use magic, to take the coward's way out of her duty. Zevran had told him a woman like her was going to be the death of them and they would never recover. He had been right. Mahariel struck down the foul Archdemon, and her heart stopped beating, the Blight killing her as she fulfilled her duty. Zevran had given a cry of grief and Alistair had hugged her cooling body close. She had died with her eyes wide open. She hadn’t been afraid when the killing blow was struck.

They wept for her, for she could not weep anymore. They closed her eyes, so her soul would not be tempted to stay. She had left her mortal coil. She had left them her mortal body while her immortal soul had drifted away. The others had to come and find them, to pry her away from them, so that the people could see their hero in all of her glory; to remember that Dalish Elf had saved them all. He burned her body as a king, crown on his head and heavy on his heart, and kept her ashes. Zevran had a small bottle of them around his neck.

Zevran had stayed for a short while, both of them making love to try and forget her. But time drove them apart and he went on to kill the Crows. He came back, now and again. Bringing with him bloody knives and bitter smiles. Mahariel had promised to help him once the Blight had ended. Alistair was going as well, because to be without his two most beloved people, would have killed him. Each time Zevran came back, they would drink, and talk to her ashes. They would make love and remember her, always laughing and smiling and her last wish the night before she died.

“Take care of each other. Please? I couldn’t bare the thought of the two of all alone again.”

So they did. Zevran came home because if he died outside of the castle walls, his body would never come back. Alistair would never be able to put his ashes next to Mahariel, and return the ashes Zevran took to their final resting place. Zevran always left in the dark before the dawn, a deep kiss and a promise to come home. He would kiss two of his fingers and then them over her name on her urn. The last time he came back, he spoke of The Champion of Kirkwall. If Mahariel had been alive she would have laughed at all of his fake flirting.

This time, he came back with horrible news. News that had only been rumor. Mahariel would have had a plan. She always seemed to have one. With her frizzy black hair and gapped tooth smile. Dark umber skin and white tattoos. She had said she had chosen Mythal.

She had felt close to the goddess.

A mother who had been killed for no reason.

And now a mob with her name was killing people.

Alistair missed being a Grey Warden.

Zevran cleaned his knives, wine untouched, as they spoke in the royal chambers. They sat in front of a fireplace big enough to push a man into. Mahariel stayed atop the mantle, watching from above. The little glass bottle sitting next to her urn. Zevran often said that he felt better while out on the road if he spoke to her. He did that as well. Alistair was on his second glass.

Made it easier to think about her.

“You’re sure?” Alistair asked as he put his glass down, and then flopped onto his stomach. His head rested near Zevran's knee. Zevran moved his tools and climbed onto Alistair, playing with the short hairs at his neck. His weight was a comfort. All he need now was another warm, elf body next to him, one arm under his head and fingers playing along his nose, eyes, and brow, humming Dalish songs to soothe nightmares. By the Maker, he missed her so much.

“Yes, mi amor. I saw. That poor boy stepped up, he volunteered for it. They didn’t even have to tie him up before they killed him like a lamb sent for slaughter.”

“All elvhen?”

Zevran pushed at Alistair until Alistair rolled over with a groan, his arm above his head as he rested on his back. Zevran stretched out on top of him, head resting on folded hands. Hands that covered his heart. And held it. The other set were ashes now. Alistair moved his arms and held Zevran tightly to him, digging boney hips into his stomach. Zevran gave him a quick kiss.

“Some Templar fellows with red eyes. A few Tevinter mages. But yes, most are elvhen. Not many Dalish. A mob with a cult like mindset.”

Alistair grit his teeth. Mahariel would have been proud of him. He had done much in the short time after the Blight. But the Mage/Templar war had undone all of his hard work and now his people lived in fear once more. Not from demons, but from this cult. Stealing anyone they could take. The elvhen girl, Azurite Lavellan, wasn’t to blame.

She wasn’t Mythal, and wasn’t behind this cult. She was like Mahariel. An accidental hero who did what was right because some had to. But this cult needed to be cut away. Like a cancerous growth. Alistair flipped them over, holding Zevran’s wrist with one hand, the other pressing down on his chest; they had lost Mahariel, he would be damned if he lost Zevran to these fucking mad cultist. Zevran gave a warm chuckle.

Alistair leaned down, kissing the temple where the tattoo started. He placed kisses along the path he took to whisper into Zevran's ear. It gave a twitch. Alistair smiled. Mahariel and Zevran had such expressive ears. All elves did. To watch them talk to each other had captivated him—and the others for that matter—for hours; the ears moving up, down, stopping, turning left and right only slightly, dropping, and even wiggling when happy.

“What’s a mob to a king?” Alistair asked softly, his warm breathing tickling the inner skin, before licking the shell of a tan ear. Zevran shivered and wrapped his legs around Alistair's waist. The cult could wait. Zevran was going to be hunting them in the morning and Alistair wanted to make sure he kept his promise to Mahariel. They kissed as deeply as they could, breath running low and hearts beating fast. It was the kind of kiss that people swore could steal souls.

“Alistair...my king.” Zevran gasped as he came up for air. Alistair ducked into his neck, sucking marks into the skin, nipping at them with each groan Zevran gave. It was going to be a long night.

*******

Athim let the needle slid in and out of the cloth, slow and steady. In through the bottom lip, nice and tight, into the top lip, check to make sure there is no slack. And then down the way you came, only half an inch away from the last line. The boy in his lap was crying, tears falling down but not making any noise. He was a good boy. But he had stopped moving. Athim stopped holding the young jaw taunt and patted him on his thigh.

The boy began to move his hips once more and Athim put his hand back to the jaw. If the skin wasn’t tight enough, then the stitches might come loose. The Qunari had the wrong god but the right rules. Almost. To be allowed to speak must first be earned. And first one had to have no voice. And no desire.

The boy began to speed up and Athim reached down and raked his nails harshly over barely healed scabs. The salt must not have been washed all the way out if they still hadn’t healed after two days. The boy let out a pained sound and stopped moving. A knock came to the door and Athim gave a noise loud enough to be heard. The door opened and closed quickly, his little spy standing at the ready. She didn’t look at the boy in his lap. Or the two others shivering in the corner, trying to pick the stitches out and getting shocked for their efforts.

The blood on their inner thighs was enough of a warning for the third to behave. And he had. Such a good boy.

“Report.”

The spy bowed at her waist before speaking, “King Alistair is offering up a handsome knighthood and a land title to anyone who can tell him where we are and the names of the leaders.”

“Silly shem.”

“Rumor also has it that he has an elven lover. Male. Good in bed.”

Athim paused to shift his weight in his chair, eyes looking briefly to the spy. Her hair was messy. She never had messy hair. He went back to looking at the boy. Almost done. Two more rows, “Send for the Templars, Reese and Goyle, and then come back to finish your report.”

“Athim.”

As he finished inside the boy and his mouth the Templars and the spy came in. He sent the boys limping to sit on the bed, and told them to watch. He turned to the spy and the Templars, “I had such high hopes for you.”

“What?” she asked.

“Was he that good?”

Her eyes grew large before she tried to bolt but the Templars caught her and slammed her face down onto the table. It still had fresh blood on it from the last willing member. And the last unwilling one as well. The Templars had such a special brand of cruelity to them. The girl would be in good care until he returned. As he shut the door, he heard her begin to scream at them, curses and foul language. Such a naughty girl, that one.

When he came upon the one of the shem mages he told them to spread out and find the spy. The lover of King Alistair. He would fetch a wealthy price from the former Grey Warden. As the mages went spy hunting, he returned to his small shack. The girl was clawing at the table as the Templar held her head down and fucked her bloody. The boys hadn’t looked away but they had started to look green. Poor things.

He leaned down until she was looking at him, her small grunts of pain and the Templar noises of pleasure sounding so loud up close, “What did you tell him?”

“Fu-fu-ARGH!! FUCK YOU!”

The Templar gave a groan as he pulled away and the other one took his place. The first, Reese, grabbed one of her hands and moved to out of the way to grab at her pretty red hair. He used it to clean himself off. The other Templar set a slow but harsh pace and the girl was gritting her teeth. Athim shook his head sadly.

“What did he tell you?”

The girl screamed, “STOP!”

Athim gave a short click of his teeth before looking at Reese, “Go and get a few of your friends. They deserve a reward for being loyal.”

The man gave the spy a sneer and left. Athim settled into his chair to wait. Seven men plus Reese came back and the other one, Goyle, hadn’t finished yet. They all looked at Athim and he waved his hand in a dismissive manner. The poor girl didn’t have a chance. The boy whimpered from the bed and a few of the Templar looked at them and back at Athim. He nodded his head the boys tried to scramble away.

Such naughty children.

For a few hours, the boys were passed back and forth, and so was the spy. She held on for a while. One of the boys gave a loud cry that was cut off as one of the Templars wrapped both hands around his thin neck and then the boy stopped moving for a long time. Limp. Athim checked his pulse and gave a sad sigh.

“He passed on. Poor dear.”

Reese laughed as he held the spy in place, her mouth and throat spread wide, “We fucked him dead? That’s a first for Goyle.”

“Shut up,” Goyle snapped as he helped one of the boys ride him.

The spy broke just before dawn.

“Alistair is sending...an assassin. A King’s assassin.”

“What’s a king to a God?” Athim chuckled as he pushed himself into the girl, her wail cut off as another man took the place of the last one in her mouth.

*****

Fenris was about to piss himself from laughter, if he ever let his face show that or even made a noise. But he hadn’t, other than to yell at Hawke for two weeks without end after catching up with him at the Grey Warden fortress in the middle of a fucking ice storm. It was like that at all times and since coming to this hell on earth, they had not been allowed to send letters, only to receive them. After they had been read. The last letter Varric sent had not held any good news. A goddess reborn. The Herald of Andraste was now the Herald of the fall of man.

This same argument had been going around in the meeting hall for the better part of three months and Hawke was almost ready to snap. Carver had done that a few times. Hawke and Carver looked nothing alike.Carver had the black hair and blue eyes of the Amell family, but Hawke. Hawke was a thing of beauty. Long auburn hair that framed his clean and handsome face, amber eyes that could glow like hellfire. Peach skin that would flush so handsomely for Fenris whenever he whispered anything depraved into those pierced ears.

Fenris tuned back into the Conversation.

“She is a danger to us!” Warden Commander Reilly, a dwarf with a bad temper and a foul smell, roared at Hawke who simply rolled his eyes.

“Miss Lavellan,” Hawke said in a much calmer and lower tone, “saved the Grey Wardens. Seeker Cassandra would have cut your numbers down to a third, at best.”

Carver spoke up, “Even if this rumor is true, it has no merit. What kind of goddess can she be if she keeps helping everyone? No god ever went out of their way to try and help the peons it created.”

Aveline, Maker bless the poor woman and her husband, gave a heavy sigh next to him. Fenris turned his head to look at her, and she pointed to the smelly dwarf and rolled her eyes. Fenris only nodded in agreement. This was the same thing that had been said before, only slightly different.

“I will not allow this! I am the Warden Commander. And I say that we. WIll. NOT. LEAVE.”

Hawke, it seemed, finally had enough. He stood quickly and slammed his hands on the table. The whole room fell silent. Hawke never made any types of aggressive moves. He had Fenris for that. An angry mage and a dangerous mage.

“Listen to me very carefully. LISTEN.” Hawke was speaking in civil and even tone, but it was colder than the snowstorm outside. No one even wanted to breathe too heavily, “Rumor aside, Lavellan needs our help. She helped you. She saved the Grey Wardens. She sealed the hole in the sky. If you don’t want to help, then fine. But I am no Warden, and you have no control over me. I will leave and go help, and Maker damn you all.”

As Hawke left, Fenris stood up and the dwarf gave him a low growl, which he turned before going after Hawke. Who was pacing and muttering in their room. Hands braiding his hair and then smoothing it out before he turned to look at Fenris. Fenris made sure to lock the door and then laid down on the bed, arms open. Hawke fell into them and curled around his body. Fenris played with his hair for a while, before speaking. Hawke always wanted his input, “Skyhold will be just as cold as here, you know; summer is all but over, and fall is a myth so high in the mountains.”

Hawke traced the lyrium lines along his collarbone before answering, “She saved me. I owe her. Everyone owes her. Enemies abound will find their way to her and she needs our help.”

“A goddess reborn may not need the help of mere mortals, Hawke.”

Hawke looked up and rolled his eyes before turning in the bed, and Fenris curled around him, “We leave in a few days. Aveline and Donnic need to pack too. Carver will likely be leaving the Grey Warden as well, to join us. Silly brother of mine.”

“You worry too much for too many. The world is safe. Your life is safe. Why not let us go about our lives, forget everyone else?”

“Because, it’s rude. Helping others is good for the soul, Fenris. Besides, Skyhold is better than this place. Plus Varric is there, and Isabela wrote. She’d meet us there if we ever went back.”

Fenris laughed, “For a pirate Queen, she is on land very often, isn’t she?”

“She wrote, and I quote, “I am a goddess of the sea, Hawke, and I may go where I please.” She said she dropped Merril off on some little island. Merril is still working on that mirror.”

Fenris gave a grunt, let the little blood mage do as she pleased as far as he was concerned, “You are going even if I don’t stop you.”

“Yep.”

Fenris buried his face into Hawke's hair. When they awoke the next day, the mood had changed. The Warden Commander looked at Hawke for a long while before telling him, “We leave for Skyhold at the end of the week. Make sure your packed. We will not leave a debt unpaid. Goddess or no, she is someone worthy to have as an ally. I doubt she is anything to gape at though.”

Hawke wondered why the answer had changed. He guess it was because of his outburst. Fenris doubted that though. Dwarves were sneaky. They planned ahead.The next four days were busy as the whole of the fortress was being made to move. Fenris made sure that several weeks of food and health tonics went into the pack Hawke was going to carry.

His own had the spare clothing and tent. As Hawke tied his hair back, Fenris finally had an answer for him, his deep voice echoing in the empty room that had been theirs, “What’s a God to a non-believer?”

Hawkes amber eyes narrowed, his soft voice unsure as he answered, “I don’t know. You tell me; what is a God to a non-believer?”

Fenris gave Hawke a smile so cruel it sent a shiver up the mages spine, “Defeatable.”

*******

The next six days were busy in Skyhold as the whole of The Archons court moved down the mountain and back to Tevinter. Dorian and his father had spoken briefly before Halward left. Lavellan could tell that they had begun to rebuild the bridge they had burned. Sera and Sardon had become fast friends, the revelation of her former godhood forgotten in the face of a friend who had never treated her any differently in all her lifetimes. Solas and Abelas had begun to plan with Cullen and Leliana about what to do with the cult. Vivienne had come back a few days after the prank on the Archon and his family, bearing gifts and good news. The Dark Hand, an assassination group from Nevarra, was following up on the cult.

As was King Alistair, since several small towns had all but been wiped out again by the cult. The King and the Empress held no love for the cult and had taken the blame from Lavellan. It wasn’t her fault that crazy people wanted to kill everyone. Thus help was coming from the shadows. More so from Orlais than Fereldan. It was a good piece of a news. The only good news that had come to them in recent days.

Hawke was coming back. Along with a whole fortress of Grey Wardens. Cullen had been worried about what it meant and Cassandra had been livid. She still held no love for them. Lavellan wouldn’t hold it against her. She knew the pain of betrayal now, of seeing the ideals of the world crumble before your eyes. As the Archon left, they prepared for a Warden Commander with a bad temper and the Champion of Kirkwall.

Vivienne had brought her back a collapsing staff, and had set up a strict schedule to train her in the Knight Enchanter sect of magic. Solas and Abelas had begun to teach her basic and Fade rift magic, while Dorian was torn between not teaching her and wanting to teach her how to become a necromancer. So far she had proven to be a horrible student. Her magic was weak and her body was trying to reject the magic. Solas had theorized that since she had no foci to channel her deep pool of mana out into the world, and control the magic that the mana became, it was her own body trying to protect the people around her. She had almost set two people on fire by accident and had frozen her hand to her quill. Sera was still normal, and had no magic, to the ever present relief of the people of Skyhold.

For now, she stayed with Sera and Bull as they drank and told their worst sex stories. Dorian and Sardon had begun to argue about the months and how they were broken up. The sixth and seventh months had flown by and the cool weather of the eight month had settled in. Sardon has confused on the holiday that was coming up. All Souls day. Lavellan had heard that some cultures did nothing on that day, with the fear that the dead would rise up in anger, since the Veil was so thin. It was so silly but it was also interesting.

Everyone celebrated the day differently, and thus small parties were being allowed. Lavellan knew Sera would be at all of them. Dorian had retired to his and Bulls room while Sardon had gone to make sure that Sera would be comfortable when she made her way up. They began to tell funny stories, Sera’s voice slurring her words and Bull laughing so loud it rang into the rafters. Cullen had come for Krem hours ago and they had left with harsh but soft words whispered between them. Bull told them a story about a woman who had begun her cycle when she had spent the night in his bed, and how she had tried to use the paint cleaner he used to wash away his Vitaar. It turned the sheets from white with blood stains to purple and green.

Sera laughed so hard that her ale flew from her nose causing her to cough. Lavellan tried to help her breath while laughing herself. Cole had taken Krems seat and had been looking at her all night. It seemed as though Cole couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“You want to blame someone, you want to blame her or Solas, but you can’t and you don’t want to. The hurt is old, like how it is in Solas, but worse. Because it’s new and old. Like Lavellan. Like you are Sera.”

Lavellan turned to look at Cole, reaching for him with a warning clear in her eyes, “Cole...it’s a happy time. Let the hurt linger for a short while more, than you can help Sera.”

Sera squinted at Cole and then wagged a finger at him, almost falling from her seat before slurring, “W-whey chan-hick!” before she fell to the floor her mug of ale still held in her hand and not a drop spilled. Bull pulled it from her hand and placed her back in the seat. Lavellan placed a steady hand on Sera who tried to push her away. Cabot called out that the tavern would be closing soon. It was a good reason to forget what Cole had said by ordering more drinks.

The tavern was all but empty when Sera passed out and Bull pulled her up.

Lavellan made sure that Sera was safely up the stairs with Bull helping her along to her room before turning to look at Cole, who had been hovering near them all night. He gazed at her with his wide eyes, sad and knowing. And old man's eyes. She smiled at him warmly, bitterly, and reached up to touch his cheek, “We’ll laugh about this someday.”

Cole stepped away, hurt clear on his face, “No...we won’t.”

Lavellan had thought that she had gotten better at lying.

********

His room was in the tower. All of them stood in her tower. They didn’t feel comfortable anywhere else. Too far away to protect her. To save her. They didn’t need the rooms, they didn’t sleep. But it made her feel better.

A stoic mind but a bleeding heart. She hadn’t changed, not at the core, but she wasn’t the same. No longer a killer and a martyr. She was a child wearing armor and trying to make herself seem bigger than she really was. So she gave them things slaves had never needed or had ever been given freely either. Because no matter how many times she gave them their freedom, they never took it, never left, but accepted her little gifts to make her feel less like a slaver.

It made them feel important. Free. He had taken some of the paints from Solas and had transformed his room. Memories of a bygone age. He had painted her weeks and weeks ago. Mythal, like the last time he had seen her. Sitting in her ocean, hair down, and in a white dress.

Looking out in the green mist of the beyond. She had been so beautiful. To see her now, it broke his heart. She was still beautiful. Just so young and afraid. Too new. He would destroy her if they ever became like they had before.

He would do anything for her, die for her. She knew it and hated it. They hadn’t spoken three days. Not since he had kissed her. Sweet and soft and swift. She had sat him down and explained to why this wouldn’t work. He couldn’t love her until he learned to love himself, to be free, to be a new person not tied down to the past.

He had left the room without a word. He had wanted to scream at her then. Didn’t she understand? He didn’t know how to love himself, to be free, to let it all go. He hadn’t the courage. But he did love her because she was his everything. She had been his everything.

Abelas traced his finger down the painted face he had once known so well. He hadn’t loved her, not really. Sex was not love, he understood that now. Love was different, it hurt more, it made you laugh more. It held you so tightly that it felt like the whole of the world was going to unravel if the pressure around your heart let up for even a moment. Love was like a pure hatred. It could consume in such a pleasurable and painful way, that without it, the body felt hollow.

He moved away from her painting, grabbed the bucket of black paint and opened the lid. This was his room and his life. He was free. He could do anything he wanted and no one could tell him otherwise. Freedom was different kind of empty, but it was almost as wonderful as being in love. He gripped the handle of the bucket firmly, made sure that the tarp was in place under the painting and looked at her once last time, “You were my everything. In hindsight, that was the problem.”

The blackness erased her from his wall.

*******

Solas had long ago learned how to walk in the Fade and never attract attention that he didn’t want. June was there, safe in the wolf jaw bone, a world that Solas had made for himself. When they looked at each other, the Fade swirling around them, June didn’t even try to stand. He was an old and beaten dog. There wasn’t anymore anger or energy to draw on. He used it all up in just getting to the mortal world. A warning too late in coming.

“You used to look like her. All tan skin and dark hair. Now look at you.” June said as he waved his weak arms at Solas, “Pale and weak like me. What happened, little brother, to all your magic? All your pride?”

“I left it behind. To learn I had to let it all go.”

June gave a weak chuckle, before letting his head slump down until it rested on a cool rock, his whole body using it to try and support itself. Solas moved forward and then bent down, propping June up so his spine was not bent at an odd angle. June let his head roll to lean on his own boney shoulder. Solas swept the hair from his eyes. It was missing in patches and clung to his fingers, wisp of something that should have been healthy.

“I let it grow out.” June said as he reached with shaky fingers to remove his brittle hair from Solas. Solas sat down and kept his hands on June. Weak and dead. Or something close to it.

“It is a nice shade of red.”

“That’s blood.”

Solas gave a wince, “My apologises.”

“For what?” June chuckled, “You didn’t seal us away to be right. You did it to protect our people, from us. From him.”

“It still hurt.”

“Hmm.” June turned his head down to cough, his body slowly fading away. Solas held him as the fit passed. June turned tired eyes to Solas, “We always wondered, if you did it. Broke all of the mirrors so that, if we ever did get out, we couldn’t use them.”

Solas felt his temper flare, the spirits of the Fade gathering around them in interest, “Why ask a question you have the answer to?”

June reached up and ran his thumb along the soft part of Solas’ cheek. Solas flinched away, “We knew you did it. We just never understood why.” June looked down as more of him faded away, his magic and his life at its end. Solas still held onto him. June closed his eyes as tears spilled over his hollow cheeks. Dying was scary.

“I broke every mirror, trying to hurt him like he hurt them. Like how he hurt me.” Solas whispered as the spirits faded away, dropping to his knees and holding his head in his hands. June let his body move forward to bring Solas into a weak embrace. Solas didn’t even look up. June pulled him closer and hugged him as tightly as he could. Solas let out a painful whimper before his arms snaked around his brother.

“I’m afraid.” June whispered as bigger parts of him began to break apart and fade away. A memory that wouldn’t even be worth remembering.

“So am I.”

June let go and Solas finally wept. He caused this.

******

Dorian had brought her books. On magic. Old magic. Written in nothing buts runes and such an old form of elvhen that she couldn’t read it. This had earned a three hour debate on why he brought them. Some horrible lie about her needing to learn from a true mage and not a court mage. A stab at Vivienne and the fact that most what Lavellan was being taught was hands on training.

It was the reason she now had a black eye and skid marks on her knees. Vivienne had always been a force of nature, but Lavellan had always counted her lucky stars that it had never been at her. Until now. Dorian had heard about her black eyes and her knees—of course he had, he was Dorian. He was a worse gossip than Leliana—and now he was in her room with books. She flipped some the pages in the tome on front of her. Dorian set another down on top of the one she was reading and pointed to a word.

“This is a word that can cause frost.” he said with a smile and she moved his finger to look at it. She frowned and pointed at it herself.

“That word is “soulmate”, Dorian. Not frost.”

Dorian squinted his eyes at her before grabbing the book and looking at the word again. He gave a scoff,  “Soulmates. What a silly idea. It’s sounds like it should belong in one of Varric’s romance serials. I might tell him that when we go down to dinner.”

“Aren’t you and Bull soulmates?”

Dorian froze, fingers gripping the tome tightly in his hands. He gave her a tight smile that didn’t curl the corner of his eyes. Lavellan stopped leaning against her desk. He shut the book softly before speaking, “We are...many things. We make each other happy. It’s all well and good, but it can’t last. One day, we will wake up, look at each other, and think back on everything we have ever done.”

“Why is that a bad thing?”

Dorian set the book down before stepping out onto the balcony, “People change. I won’t always be his favorite person. I’m sorry to say, but you are old enough to know the truth. Soulmates don’t exist. Only people who make you happy. And if you only get one, then I’m afraid I met them a long time ago. Like Cole told, he would have yes, if I had asked.”

Lavellan followed him with her eyes, her body not moving as she asked her next question, “Why didn’t you ask him, Dorian?”

Dorian let his hands grip the railing, his back bending. The picture of defeat, “I didn’t want him to tell me that he didn’t love me. Bull always tells me that, but I know it’s not true. Love and soulmates are false ideals, Lavellan. We tell them to each other so we don’t hate eachothers happiness.”

Lavellan moved to the balcony, wrapping her arms around Dorian’s stomach, head leaning into his spine, and she smiled when she felt his hands cover her forearms and pushed them closer to him, “I don’t know what a soulmate is, not really. But I do know that you can have one and that they can be the person who isn’t sleeping with you and that you can have more than one at a time. Soulmates can love you, without having sex with you. I found mine. He’s a mage of some talent, but he can’t act. He whines about the cold, but never wears any decent clothing. He hugs me when I cry and when he cried because he lost his best friend, I made sure no one saw his makeup run.”

Dorian let a choking laugh, his tears clogging his throat. She could feel them burn her as they landed onto her bare arms. She hugged him tighter and curled closer to her. He spoke into the dying sunlight, “You will be a blight onto whatever man or woman decides to love you.”

“Good. Love isn’t suppose to be easy, it’s suppose to be hard so it can last. If it doesn’t hurt a little bit, then it wasn’t really real.”

Dorian laughed a little louder, with less tears.

*******

Cassandra had come in and sat down at his more private work station. She had a letter in one hand and a bottle of half drunk something in the other. The bottle had been slammed down and the letter thrown at him while she took a seat. She grabbed the bottle and looked at him, “Read.” He only raised an eyebrow and picked up the two page letter. No, two different letters. One from the Chantry about how she was no officially the new Divine, and the other informing her of her uncles death in his sleep.

“Well...shit.”

“Ale?”

Varric shook his head, “Sorry, I need a clear head when I’m writing.”

“Which one are you working on?”

He chuckled, “You’re favorite one. Wanna sneak peak?”

“Please.”

The sun had set and the room was cozy. Varric handed Cassandra the pages he had with a soft, “Only for you, Seeker,” and she took them softly from his hands. It was too dark in the room to see her face clearly. He would wager money that she was three sheets to the wind, even if her voice didn’t betray her drunkenness. He had finished off three pages and Cassandra four before she placed the empty bottle on the table near the candle. He had just dipped his quill in the ink again when she set down the pages and turned her head to look at him. He looked back.

“Did you feel anything? When you killed your brother?” she asked.

“No. Just because he was family didn’t mean anything. He was an asshole.”

Cassandra nodded her head, “I know he raised me, but my uncle's passing...I feel nothing. He used to tell me that we had to carry our dead with us. I don’t even know why he would tell me that. What do the dead do but weigh us down?”

Varric thought about it for a moment, “The dead aren’t luggage, Seeker. Their memory is what weighs you down. They are either buried in the ground or burnt to ash.”

“But why would he tell me that, even as child, he would tell me that. I just...I don’t understand.”

Varric reach across the table and gave her hand a soft pat, “Maybe he wasn’t really talking to you, but to himself. Maybe what happened to his brother—your father—bothered him more than he let on. Maybe he didn’t want you to end up like him. Being eaten alive by guilt over things you couldn’t control even if you wanted to.”

Cassandra picked the pages back up, “No. My uncle was never so deep. He loved the dead more than he loved the living. I suppose that is why I don’t feel anything for his passing. He got what he wanted out of life.”

“Few of us do.” Varric said and dipped the quill in the ink again, since the last had either dropped off or dried. He often wondered what would have happened if he had listened to Hawke back in Kirkwall. His brother was out of his mind. Like Carver had been down in the Deep Roads. You never came up on family though, even if they deserved it.

Varric wrote a few more lines in his notebook, Cassandra read over what he had written for his next novel. The conversation dropped like a rock. It wasn’t until the candle on his desk was almost dead, and the fading moon providing the perfect cover, that Varric began to close up shop for the night. Before he left the little area above the smithy he had claimed, Cassandra spoke, softly, as though afraid to remind the moon to be brighter, to expose this intimate moment, “If we didn’t carry the dead with us, I think we would feel a little empty inside.”

“Are you going to carry him then?”

“I already carry Anthony with me. My uncle shouldn’t prove too heavy.”

********

Krem wanted to punch Cullen in his face. Cullen had went and asked about mothers and babies to a mid-wife. At three months, Cullen was told, most mothers began to make milk. Their breast hurt and it was easier for them to go without anything to hold them up. It would hurt less. Krem had told him that he had begun to leak, a little, a few days after he brought this up. Cullen had gotten rid of all of his binders.

Binders that he had made by hand. Binders to hide his body. So he could be Cremisius Aclassi, second in command of The Bull Chargers. He had been born as Beatrice, but he would be damned it he died as her. Krem wasn’t a Qunari, but the term in Qunlat was correct. He was a man. Baby be damned, his binders were his and Cullen had no right to get rid of them.

Not until Krem said so and did so. Krem was sure that everyone could hear them and he didn’t care. Cullen had crossed a line that you didn’t cross. Not the Chargers who loved to prank each other, had ever so much as glanced at his binders. Just like how no one touched Skinner near her neck. Or Dalish and her “bow” or even Grim had his little silver ring. A childs ring.

You didn’t look at them, touch them, or take them. Make fun all you want in good humor but never cross the line. And Cullen had. Out of good intentions and deed, but that wasn’t the point. Krem had been told all his life what to be and how to act. He was his own man and he would make his own choices. Cullen had had no right.

Krem pushed Cullen again, and Cullen let him. Krem kept pushing until a wall was at Cullens back. Cullen let Krem hit him, blows made out of anger and rage, with sadness weighing them down. Cullen didn’t lift his hands and Krem wasn’t really hurting him. Not in the physical sense, and Krem was so angry that his words kept stopping and starting as though his mind was having trouble trying to figure out what it wanted to say before he exploded with a booming voice, “Our bodies are ours do to with with as we please. We can throw them in rivers, light them on fire, stab ink into every inch of this damn flesh if we wanted to, and no one should make us feel like it wasn’t our choice. If our lives can not be our own, then our bodies have to be.”

*******

Vivienne was entertaining a quest in a white hood when Josephine walked into her small alcove near the library. The guest stood, bowed to Vivienne and Josephine. She saw the brand on the palm of their hand. A crescent moon with a spider in the middle of the palm, the moon curling around it. They left with no noise. Josephine sat down in the chair that Vivienne had motioned to. A member of The Dark Hand.

“The Empress send her best wishes to us. She also sends her love. Or what passes for it, at any rate.” Vivienne said with a smile as she fanned herself with a topaz and silk fan held together by blue diamonds and silver.

“I...see. I will let the others know.”

“Was there something you needed, my dear?”

Josephine looked at Vivienne for a long moment before nodding her head and standing to leave, “To ask about the Empress and her plans but you have already done so. I was prepared for a long speech. It seems that is no longer the case. I will leave you to your day, Madame De Fer.” Josephine turned to leave but stopped and looked back down at Vivienne from wear she sat on her lounge chair, “Don’t take this the wrong way. I like where my head is, but…I’m glad that I can call you my friend.”

“Likewise, my dear.” Vivienne chuckled.

*******

Blackwall had come to the tavern to drink. That was all. He hadn’t planned on trying to calm Sera down after she had thrown a chest down into the tavern below with a hoarse cry of rage. Cabot had looked at him and pointed to her. Inner circle took care of the inner circle. He went up the stairs with a stone in his stomach. She had left her door open and her weapon on the roof outside her window but still within easy reach.

Blackwall shut the door and sat down. She didn’t even look at him. She had changed, a little. Longer hair in the front, very short in the back. Her eyes glowed a little now. Changed like Lavellan. Like everything here at Skyhold.

“Do you wanta talk about it?”

“No, yes, ugh! I don’t know. I wanna kill someone!”

Blackwall gave a short snort of laughter, “You almost did when you threw that chest.”

“My head is all fuzzy.”

“Hungover?”

Sera looked at him and shook her head, “Nightmares. Or dreams and memories. I don’t know. But I can’t sleep anymore. It’s all too much.”

Blackwall frowned, “What kind of dreams?”

“I keep dying.”

Blackwall itched his beard, “I’m sorry. Are...do you die painfully?”

“All the time.”

“As a warrior?”

Sera gave a scoff and a turn of her head, “I wish. I keep...I die young. I don’t get much older than this. I don’t get to be as old as you and Bull.”

“Only the good die young, Sera.”

Sera paced in her small and messy room, hands flying as she spoke at break neck speed, as though afraid if she didn finish then the words would stay inside her and they would kill her slowly, “Dying is the last great adventure anyone has. Dying old and in yer sleep is the best way to start it. It’s the reason I’ve stopped thinking about before the sky fell apart, and after we won, because the past...it’s... is leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, and the future isn’t promised to anyone; and that’s scary, al’right? But the right now, the current me and the people I love. This is wonderful, and I can wait for my last great adventure, ‘cause I wanna keep living this one, the one I’m in right now.”

Blackwall knew it wasn’t proper. Josephine and his short time a knight had taught him well. A married man never touched a lady in her room with a closed door. But fuck propriety. He stood swiftly and hugged Sera as tight as he had ever hugged any man. She hugged him back just as hard and twice as boney. Sera buried her face into his coat and he smoothed down her hair. He had never had any children before coming to Skyhold, and now he had two.

Sera and Cole. There were worse names in the world, and worse people to raise good kids. So far, they were going to be fine. And if the world tried to tell him otherwise, he’d let Sera shoot them until she felt better.

“Listen to me, Sera. You are a good person. An odd duck to be sure, but you are a good person. And only good people die young. Old warriors like me and Bull? We used to be shitty people and that’s why we live so long. So don’t let your head get to you.”

“Promise?”

“Promises are alwasy easy to break. But a fact can’t be argued with. So no, I don’t promise you. This is a fact and you had better remember it.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Now let’s go get drunk to shut your nightmares up.”

“Sounds goods.”

 

 


	19. C is(NOT) for contrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull pulled Dorian away from where he had hidden his face and made the pretty mage look at him, “You and I will never be a great love story. But that’s fine. I like the story we have so far, and if the ending is bittersweet, then I’m all for it, Kadan.” Bull whispered as he kissed Dorian with everything he had. Dorian held onto him tighter. It was the truth. The love story ended like how you thought it would, but people like them had better life stories than most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last touchy feely chapter. After this all the fighting happens. Also, my school starts up on the 24th of this month. So, fair warning, updates will be much, much, slower. My 100 ways to say I love you series is all but done, so those will be posted more or less on time. This will be much more spread out. But with only 13 chapters left, all of which will be blood, gore, death and fighting, this might be done around December. Maybe. So, this is a fair warning to the up coming posts. and also to thank everyone who has read, left kudos, boomarked and everything else. So thank you and enjoy.  
> Translations:  
> Garas quenathra: "Why are you here?/Why have you come?"  
> Ma melava halani: You helped me  
> Mala suledin nadas: Now you must endure.

C is(NOT) for contrition

Solas was almost surprised when he entered his room and Abelas was there once again. It had become habit for the younger man to come and see him. Solas had been around long enough that the world was less confusing to him. Abelas hadn’t had that luxury yet. They had taken to drinking and playing chess until the dawn. When the sky turned grey, Abelas would leave to go and shadow Lavellan as her progressed, and Solas went to the library to see if there were any spells that might keep the seals in the Fade strong. Or at least, to make a newer and better set.

Elgar’nan could not be allowed to roam the mortal plain. The fools in this cult did not understand the danger that they were putting everyone in. Mythal didn’t need to be yanked from the fade, she was already born and made of flesh and blood. The mortal realm held no danger for her now. Elgar’nan on the other hand, needed the blood magic to make a body for him. A shield from the world and being turned into an abomination. But when they were in this room, the world was not allowed in.

Abelas was still trying to adjust to his new way of life and his new status as a free man.

“To what do I owe this visit?” Solas asked as he closed the door and went to his book shelf. It was midday, the whole castle in good spirits due to All Souls Day, while others were left alone to mourn. Lavellan had taken the day to mourn her clan. Planting trees anywhere she could find the room and saying a prayer for them. Cassandra was in mourning as well, with the news of her last living blood relation passing away a week prior. She had other family, but none as close a blood relation as her uncle, and none whom she wished to see.

“I’m trying to think of how to prove something to her.”

Solas found the book he was looking for. An older book made of flesh with old runes. Perhaps this would shed some light on the magic being used by the cult. He took a seat at his table, while Abelas stood in front of the fireplace, the flames burning low. Solas flipped through the pages of the books, “Lavellan is young. She has never loved in the physical sense. She might have been in love at one point, but she put away such silly desires when the call for heroism called her.”

“It called her,” Abelas said as he turned to look at Solas, “because of your actions.”

Solas gave Abelas a sharp look, “No. The events that lead us to this moment are never so cleanly cut. True, my actions caused a mad man to hold more power than he should have ever had, but her birth into this age and her actions that lead her to this moment in her life, all happened because events that happened long before your birth dictated it to be so.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, there is no life I know of that was never planned out. This is why those who plan are laughed at by their makers. Your plans mean nothing, when the end has already been written.”

Abelas took the seat next across from Solas slowly and laced his fingers together while crossing his legs, “Why would powerful beings like you even write an ending? You were immortal, the end was a nothing but a fever dream to you. To use it was something that would come.”

“Mythal often spoke of the end. None of us gave it much thought until she almost died a few times. Then when her death did happen, we realized too late that we could die.” Solas said as he went back to his book. Abelas slapped his hand down on the book and Solas gave him an evenly matched glare, “I don’t know what it is you want me to say to you, Abelas. But I need to find the spells being used by the cult. So unless this is a pressing matter, remove your hand.”

“Why did let herself die?”

“Let?” Solas chuckled. Abelas let his hand fall into his lap as Solas shut his book, “She fought with everything she had. Ever spell, every trick. Teeth and nails, she threw her whole being into the fight that killed her. But she did know that she was going to die. That’s why she fought so hard, because she wanted Elgar’nan to work for it.”

“But she knew.”

Solas leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs while his arms rested on the arms of the chair, “She knew it then. She know it now.”

Abelas flinched and then cooled his expression into a blank and stone cold face, “Liar.”

“Why lie? She knows that she is running out of time. Why do think she is running around this castle so much? She doesn’t want the people she’ll be leaving behind to be like us then first time she left. So she is trying to make her memory be less bittersweet. Cole knows it and he doesn’t know how to tell the others, because she is helping them, and he wants to help.” Solas gave a shrug of his shoulders as he spoke.

“Compassion. It kills you worse than hatred.”

Solas nodded his head, “And she knows that. So she is trying to ease their minds before her passing.”

“How?”

“The same way she died the first time. Only she plans on taking him with her. She will not leave his existence to chance again.”

Abelas stood up and moved to the door, “I wish there was a word that meant “goodbye” to someone who’s already gone.”

“I love you is a good place to start.”

“She does not want my love.”

“You’re right, she only wants your happiness. Even when she is gone.”

Abelas slammed the door shut.

********

Dorian had been in an odd mood all day. It was throwing Bull for a loop. Because he looked like he had just been told that he was a dying man living on a short amount of borrowed time, but when he looked at Bull, he looked smitten. Lavellan had basically told everyone she didn’t want to bother or deal with anyones bullshit today. All Souls Day was hers. She was going to bury her clan and everyone else could suck a dick for all she cared. Dorian had given them all the message and then had gone about his normal routine.

So when Bull went to his room in the afternoon to write up a report for Cullen about the newest little boy who wanted to play at soldier, he was surprised to find Dorian holding his pillow tightly to his chest and trying to stifle his sobs into it.  Bulls pillow was larger than Dorians and it covered the smaller man from chest to knees as he sat on the bed. Bull shut the door and sat down next to Dorian, pulling him into his his large, grey chest. Dorian let himself be pulled and then put himself into Bull lap. Bull let him and held him close. The pillow was clutched tighter and Dorian turned his face to look up at Bull, his makeup running. Bull wiped away the twin rivers of black running down flushed cheeks.

“What happened?”

Dorian voice cracked, “I realized something horrible.”

“Oh?”

“I might outlive you.”

Bull gave Dorian a puzzled look, “Dorian, Qunari live a long time. We might die around the same time. Or I might die fighting a dragon. You’ll die of old age and still look as pretty as you do now. Well, not now, but when your makeup is all done up.”

Dorian gave a loud and wet sniff as he lifted his head from the large pillow and wiped at his damp cheeks and under his eyes with the backs of his hands, “You oaf. You’ll die before me and take my heart with you when you do. I just realized that and I don’t know if I hate you for that or if I love you even more. I wish that we were a simple but great love story. We beat the bad guy, we have a home, and we get to live happily ever after. Simple and clean. Why can’t we be like that?”

“Cause those stories are boring as shit.”

Dorian laughed at this and turned to kiss Bull fully on the lips, wrapping his arms around the older mans larger neck, “It would be nice to be a story like that though. We live in a little house with no one to bother us. Krem and Cullen visit us and dop of their hoard of children. Lavellan and Sera and Cole still go off and save people. Skyhold is left a pillar of justice and the might of the truly kind hearted. The world stopped being a shitty place. Those stories might be boring, but at least you know how they’ll end.”

Bull pulled Dorian away from where he had hidden his face and made the pretty mage look at him, “You and I will never be a great love story. But that’s fine. I like the story we have so far, and if the ending is bittersweet, then I’m all for it, Kadan.” Bull whispered as he kissed Dorian with everything he had. Dorian held onto him tighter. It was the truth. The love story ended like how you thought it would, but people like them had better life stories than most.

******

Josephine sipped at her tea, looking out the window, her mind making plans. She had sent one of her people to find Blackwall. They needed to discuss things. Say what you would about Antivans, but they were an honorable people when it counted. Blackwall deserved to know. As a wife, she had to tell. He needed to know.

When he entered he rushed to her side and took her hands in his. She gave him a smile and calmed his fears before having him sit. He pulled the chair closer until their knees touched and then gripped her hands again. Josephine didn’t want to tell him but she would. She was the matriarch of her family now. She had to tell him. She just wished that it wasn’t so hard.

“You and I were meant to be together, even if we were never meant to be happy.” she said with a calm and steady voice even though her hands and heart shook. Blackwall gave her a look of utter confusion and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

“What’s all this about, love?”

Josephine had had a whole list in her head of how to respond to him when she told him that they would never be happy together. To his anger. To his coldness. To him leaving. But not to him looking so worried and so lost. He had told her time and time again that he was not an honorable man but he kept proving himself wrong. He was an honorable man, he just had a bloody past.

“I went to see the healers today. The healers were the ones who gave me those...herbs...to help us with....the process of an heir.” Josephine would deny it, but her face still flushed when she spoke about her love life. Even to her lover. Her husband.

“What did they say? Can I expect a little boy or girl to be here in a year or so?” Blackwall chuckled, as though what she had told him when he first entered the room had never even been said.

“No. We will never have children.”

Blackwall just looked at her, “Are they sure?”

“Yes. The herbs I use to take to prevent myself from getting with child, worked well. Too well. The womb is rotten and and I will never be able to give you a son or daughter.”

Blackwall just lifted his hand and ran his knuckles down her cheek, “Good thing we already have a large family then. I’m sure that Krem and Cullen will drop off their baby to anyone who wants to coo and cuddle it all day long. We can always find a child to love. We already have Sera and Cole.”

Josephine shook her head, “What?”

“Sera and Cole. They can be the starting point of our adoption. See if we can handle them and get the next two a few years younger. Work our way down to a baby.” Blackwall stood up and beagn to pace and move his arms in wild gestures, “Have a whole army of children. Elf, Dwarf, human, and why not a Qunari while we’re at it?”

“A Qunari?” Josephine said slowly as she watched him pace in front of her. She hadn’t been expecting this from him when she told him the news.

Blackwall only nodded his head as he stopped in front of her and then knelt down between her legs, “Yes. It’ll be bigger than the both us, but I think we can manage.”

Josephine could feel her world turning, “You...are not upset?”

Blackwall laughed and then kissed her on her cheek, “Upset over something that all women do to prevent having children too young or too early? You are not the first woman who could never have children, and you won’t be the last. But I’d be the biggest and sorriest fool in all of Thedas for letting you go over something as stupid as that.”

Josephine smiled so wide she could feel her cheeks hurt, “Then I am the happiest woman to have married the sorriest fool in all of Thedas.”

******

Lavellan hadn’t planned on getting caught. She had planned everything else out, but not for getting caught. She was halfway from Skyhold with her daggers, a bow and arrow, the collapsible staff Vivienne had gifted her, and her thickest armor when she heard someone following her. She had stayed off the roads to avoid Cullens soldiers and Leliana's spies. She ducked down into a bush, and drew her daggers. If it was one of the cult members she would kill them, but if it was someone she knew she’d knock them out and then run for it. She had overheard that the cult was moving closer to dwarven territory, so she was headed there too.

She held her breath as the steps stopped. She waited with her knuckles all but white on the hilt of her daggers when the voice from above her, in the tree, scared her half to death, “If you plan on having your revenge, you should dig two graves.”

She looked up at there was Abelas, dressed in his armor with no staff and only a short sword at his hip. He jumped down from the branch as she moved from out of the bushes. She put her daggers away and pointed back at Skyhold, as it loomed in the distance, the fading moon behind the tallest tower. Abelas didn’t even turn his head, “Go back, Abelas. I need to do this. I need to be the one to set this right. They can’t make stay in that fort while people die for no reason in my name.”

“I swore to you that I would be a free man. Free men do not heed the words of little girl who want to go off and get killed.”

Lavellan narrowed her eyes, “I don’t want someone to die for me. I didn’t let anyone do that when we were trying to seal a hole in the sky, and I won’t let you do it when we meet this cult.”

Abelas only bowed his head, his hood shifting at the change in his position, “Fair enough. But I am a free man and my life is my own. If I choose to die for you, then no one can stop me. Not even you.”

“Garas quenathra?” Lavellan snapped as she began to walk quickly once more. She would be missed and she couldn’t afford to be stopped. Abelas kept up with her easily.

He answered, “Ma melava halan.”

“So this warrants you following me on a suicide mission that I didn’t tell anyone about because I didn’t want to drag anyone else into this mess?” Lavellan said as she braced her knees as she let her body slide down  a steep but short decline in a hill. Abelas did the same and they kept going.

Abelas sucked in a breath as did Lavellan when they sloshed through a shallow but icy stream. Their bare feet soaking wet. Abelas answered, “Mala suledin nadas.”

Lavellan turned to look at him, “Endure what?”

“That you are not alone. Your friends will come for you. I doubt you will die before they find us. For now, you must endure my company.”

Lavellan threw up her hands, “I give up! Do what you want!”

******

He knew he shouldn’t have looked, but he wanted to. The curtain was hiding something. He just wanted a quick peek. That was all. Hell was hiding behind that blue curtain. He thought that hell had been when his mouth had been sewn shut. This was so much worse.

A bloody mass covered in veins and red lyrium. A vague shape of a body. The curtain was held in his tight grip and then it was yanked away at that man looked down at him and gave him a sad shake of his head. The old man was crazy. He backed away and the old man followed, drawing a rusty pair of clippers as he did so. They were the same clippers that he had used to cut the thread after he was done sewing mouths shut. He would know, he had moved his head and the rust had burned as the edge cut open his chin.

“I remember when your potential was a promise of great things to come. Instead of a regret. Oh, my dear boy, why did you look behind the curtain?”

 

 


	20. Those days are gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He caught her eye for a moment, before he saw the other rogue heading her way. She took a breath and let it out as she jumped into the air. He shot out a bolt of lighting, let it carry to the enemy, shocking them in place. She landed on the ground in a crouch and swept her leg out to trip one of the heavy swordsman. He landed on his back with a grunt of pain and she stabbed him in the throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read and left kudos, comments, bookmarks, and anything else. I love you all. Please enjoy some fighting.

Those days are gone

The days had begun to cool and the looming mountains had cast frozen shadows everywhere. The cult moved quickly, pulling the small shack on wheels with them. The Important Thing was in the little shack of horrors. They had been killing any dwarf who had been foolish enough to try and sneak up on them, or even stop them. A few spies had been caught and sent back to Sister Nightingale as a warning. For the most part, they had worked, but everyone knew that sooner rather than later she would send something much worse than spies.

Athim had taken more children to the shack and left them inside. All of them had magic, and the door was locked. The last time that Reese had been inside the shack, the curtain had been thin and cheap. Now it was a thick and plush velvet and something that sounded and glowed like red lyrium was behind it. The wet sound of flesh made him think otherwise. Reese walked next to Athim as the old man stood at the top of the slope, looking at the following he had amassed. They watched as the large crowd moved in the shadows, waiting.

Reese crossed his arms, shifting his weight on the cold ground, and looked at Athim out of the corner of his eye,“You’re sure that this will work?”

“Of course.” Athim answered with a smile, “I have seen the end ,and it is a peaceful and glorious one.” he tapped his staff on the ground a few times and the cult moved a little faster. They never stayed in one place for long. Too many people and too many enemies looking for them. Athim looked at Reese after a moment, with a raised eyebrow. Reese etched along his chin, thinking of how to word what it was he wanted to say.

“I saw her, once, in person. She already has a body.” he chose to be blunt, since he had little patience for this affair. Only the sweet supply of red lyrium is what kept the Red Templars tied to the cult and their crazy leader. Athim knew that too. Athim just chuckled at him. Reese followed him as he moved into the back of the group, watching them with intense vigilance.

“She has a mortal vessel, one that she has grown accustomed to, but it is not her body.” Athim explained as they walked, the shadows hiding them twice as well as the sun began to set. It cast the sky in the darkest colors, while the stars slowly opened. Silent and distant witnesses. Reese was sure that if they had mouths, they would not be silent on the things that they had witnessed. Athim had said that the stars the saw had long since died, and only their memory twinkled down at them now. Ghost who had nothing to say and who had seen nothing.

Reese wasn’t so sure. He was still a templar and still had a distrust of magic. He could feel the scowl on his face. He looked around and saw that the closest members were a few feet in front of them. Most of them didn’t know. He lowered his voice and bent his head down to speak softly into Athims ear, “So what? All this blood magic, kidnapping and murder is for her?”

Athim gave him a look that was used to show a child how displeased their parent was at them, “It is for her body. To ascend from the mortal coil she was sealed in and to lift her back to the status of godhood. We have been an oppressed people for ages—but now she is here once more—and she will provide us the means to take back what was stolen from us.”

“And how do you even know all of this, old man?” Reese asked.

Athim spoke with a tone of awe and wonder, “I walked into the Fade, and I spoke with a wisp of her soul. I spoke to a god who wanted blood and revenge for what was done to her and her kin.”

Reese gave a snort, “And you believed it?”

“Gods need not flaunt their power to prove their godliness.” Athim hissed and his hand snapped out quicker than a snake, grabbing Reese by his shoulder. They stopped walking, “We will do her bidding, even if her mortal form doesn’t understand it. We shall bath this world in blood, raze the human empire to dust, and she will reward us in this life by granting us our immortality back. We who are worthy of her.”

Reese pulled away, “Assuming that you don’t die first.”

“Death is not the end. Death is always with us, from the moment of birth. Death is like the ocean, and it is never lonely.”

******

Abelas had expected them to be attacked much sooner. A large group of bandits—twenty at most, with six archers, three warriors, two rogues, a mage, and seven two-handed blade warriors, with the last man, the obvious leader of the group, being sword and shield fighter—that had caught a few “knife-ears” on the road. Lavellan had let her arms hang loose, fingers brushing the daggers she kept strapped to her thigh. The cloaks they wore hide that from view. They could see his short sword, but they knew nothing else. Foolish humans with a foolish wish to die. Lavellan turned her head slightly to look at him and he nodded his head. Her legs tensed, and he gathered mana for a barrier spell and as they let out their last relaxed breath, they sprung into action.

Lavellan threw a few daggers at two of the archers, killing them as the blade went through their skull into the brain. Abelas cast a barrier spell and Lavellan threw down a smoke pellet. The road was small enough that it was a tight space to work with. Rogues had the advantage. Lavellan wasn’t the only rogue though. As Abelas jumped into the fray and slashed down another archer, he felt a blade coming for his back. A gurgle of blood and the sound of wet flesh being removed from a blade greeted his ears.

He caught her eye for a moment, before he saw the other rogue heading her way. She took a breath and let it out as she jumped into the air. He shot out a bolt of lighting, let it carry to the enemy, shocking them in place. She landed on the ground in a crouch and swept her leg out to trip one of the heavy swordsman. He landed on his back with a grunt of pain and she stabbed him in the throat. She rolled away as the other one slammed his maul into the ground where she had been. Abelas went after the other mage.

She was quick but he was better. She threw a few fireballs and then an ice spell. He blocked and dodged, rolling as he lept from the fire, before sending out a spirit of fear. She began to scream as her body was attacked. Lavellan cartwheeled past him and he swung his sword after her feet had passed him and right into the heart of the leader of the bandit group. Lavellan broke the neck of the other mage, and Abelas set down another barrier spell as the first one faded. Only the two handed warriors were left.

Lavellan walked past him and lifted her hand. He felt his skin prickle with her magic. Old and new. A rift opened under the smaller group and the screamed as they were dragged down into the rift. Lavellan closed it with a snap of her wrist. They cleaned their weapons, took what money they could find, and any health potions as well. They moved quickly from the road and into the forest instead.

Abelas let the silence go on for an hour before he spoke, “We should make camp soon.”

Lavellan didn’t even turn to look back at him, her back stiff and her head bowed. A guilty look and they both knew it. She hadn’t looked back even once. Abelas knew why she wasn’t looking, but he also knew that it was a foolish reason to think that she would be yelled at if she went back to Skyhold. She answered in a clipped tone, her steps steady but slower with fatigue, “We have too many miles between here and the dwarven capital. We won’t make camp until we are really tired. We don’t have time to waste.”

The pinks and light oranges of the fading sky melted away into dark velvet. Abelas clicked his tongue against his teeth before speaking, “You assume that this cult will run from you? The great hero of this age? The girl that they pray to as the goddess reborn?”

Lavellan sighed with a note of aggravation at the end of it, her shoulders slumping, “I don’t want to argue about this with you—again.”

“And yet it is one that we need to have.” Abelas said with a smirk.

Lavellan came to a dead stop. He almost ran into her as she jerked around to look at him but stopped his body at the last moment. She glared at him and he looked down at her. She only came up to his chest. The white strands in her hair were like two lines of light in the twilight hours. He waited and then she spoke,“Why? So you can understand that while you and the others were sleeping, the whole world fell apart a dozen times and everything changed?”

Abelas checked his anger but it failed him as he spoke, glaring down at her as she glared up at him. A child. A child with no regard for the world she was changing. How she had changed the world. He was tired of the game. He let his rage color his words. He gripped her upper arms tightly and gave her a small shake, as though he could rattle reason into her, “So that I can understand why you will not accept the truth when you now have the knowledge, the power, to memories—everything—that proves that you are Mythal!”

Lavellan threw herself away from him, fire in her soul and desperation in her words as she screamed loud enough to hush the forest around them, “BECAUSE I’M NOT! Being reborn as someone doesn’t mean that they are the same person that you knew. Mythal died. She died a long time ago and that was it. That was where she ended. It took her souls a long time to come back together but that doesn’t mean I’m her! I’m my own person, with my own memories, and my own life; and long before I was Mythal, I was Azurite Lavellan, and I still am, new or old memories of a past life be damned.”

She took heaving breaths to calm herself. The world hushed for their fight. Abelas gave a mirthless chuckle and crossed his arms, “And yet you have no qualms about being a hero.”

Lavellan slumped against a tree on her left, letting it hold her body up as she slide down it to sit in the dirt, looking like a defeated warrior with the blood staining her cloak and armor. She shook her head as her arms rested on her bent knees, “I am a hero. I had help too. But I did help save the world. The title of hero isn’t one to be flung about like some status symbol, it’s a fact.”

“Just like you being Mythal is a fact.”

She gave a noise of displeasure, scrubbing her hands over her face before groaning through her teeth, “This is worst than talking with Cole.”

“Compassion.” he corrected.

“His name is Cole.” she snapped and threw him a glare as she stood back up, dusting off her backside before walking again.

“This is also a fact.”

She didn’t turn to look at him, but she did slow down to walk alongside him as she looked down at her feet, “Abelas, just...tell me what it is you want me to say.”

“I want to know why being a hero is fine with you but being who you are isn’t.” he said without letting her words linger in the arm between them. She glanced up at him with a small frown on her face before looking back to the path in front her, letting her feet carry her as he guarded her. She didn’t answer for a moment. Or the next hour. She did answer him though. As they settled down in the thick branches on a tree, her smaller body curled with her back to his.

Small and afraid, she answered him the darkest part of the night, “I spent my childhood believing that I was destined to be a hero is some far away kingdom—that I alone would climb to the top of some never before seen mountain and find a land where my people could be free—and my name would forever be remembered, long after I was gone. I was almost too late to be the hero that I was born to be. I almost didn’t sneak away to the conclave. I wanted to be a coward, and go home, but I didn’t. I wanted to be a hero, selfish as that is, more than I wanted to see my family one last time. I just didn’t realize it, until the moment I woke up with the mark on my hand. I was always going to be the hero who sealed the sky, Abelas, but being a goddess reborn wasn’t part of the deal when I got this mark.”

He waited until she was deeply asleep before turning around and pulling her closer to him. Her heart beating softly and his matching it. He whispered into her hair, “For a long time, I thought that I deserved better than what you told me the future would bring. It wasn’t until your death that I understood, we both deserved better.” 


	21. D is(NOT) for damnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you define religious as sitting in a Chantry and listening to a blithering hen tell you how to live, then no. If you define it as believing in the possibility that something larger than yourself exists, then yes. By all means. The world is bigger than I, even bigger than you. It laughs at all the things we think we know.” -Dorian Pavus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am ending part one here. Please enjoy it. And thank you for reading. This chapter will set you up for part two.

D is(NOT) for damnation

Dorian wanted to say that he was surprised. He could have, by all means, but it would have been a lie and everyone would have known it too. Lavellan was a fifteen year old girl, but she was by no means an idiot. She had helped Cullen plan for wars, learned a few phrases and crucial sentences when meeting with foreign nobles as Josephine accompanied her. Leliana would ask her vague questions, questions that would decide someone's fate, and Lavellan would give the most diplomatic answer. Make them useful to the Inquisition. Lavellan was young but this did not make her stupid.

She had used the holiday and its various parties as a cover for her escape. An escape she had been planning for a while, most likely since sending the Archon and his court crawling back to Tevinter. As everyone argued over what should be done, Dorian was making plans of his own. Lavellan had left a little after the nine o’clock bell had rung. Her mount was still within the walls. On foot, even at a jogging pace, she wouldn’t be far. After all, it was only seven in the morning now, and her absence had been noted only a few hours before when none of the servants had seen her.

“I need to know why this happened, Cullen!” Cassandra roared. Varric tried to calm her down but everyone knew that she would not be calm. Not when they had gotten so many bodies and letters sent to them. All of them, demanding that Lavellan be sent to the cult. Be sent to her people. If she had known—and Dorian would have bet money that she had found out and that was why she left without telling anyone about her plans—she would have done something drastic, even more so than charging into battle without their aide.

“She planned the troops movements and worked around them to sneak out! She has hours on us, and none of my soldiers or the spies who work for Leliana saw her. She is gone and we waste our time fighting with each other!” Cullen snapped back, as he slammed his fist on the war table, the force of the fist making the little metal pieces on the table shake. They had all been flinging harsh words at each other since dawn. So far, the only thing that could agree on, was that she needed to be found. Before the cult and their tender “hospitality” would find her.

He looked over at Bull and Bull only nodded his head. A subtle dip of his head. When Sera threw her mug of morning tea at Vivienne, the whole room exploded into angry voices and they took that moment to slip from the war room and jog back to the tavern. Bull grabbed his heavy claymore with the fire rune on the hilt. Dorian made sure to grab his best armor and Bull put several bottles of health into their shared pack. “Which way do you think she went?” Dorian asked as he tugged on his best boots with the fur lining.

“East, down the old merchants roads that haven’t been used since the last Blight,” Bull answered. Bull grabbed his white clay jar full of the ink he used on his skin. Deadly to all but Qunari. Bull made sure that all of the jars didn’t crack as he stuffed thick cloth between them. Dorian slipped a dagger into his boot and hid the other one under the right band around his wrist. Bull held the door open as Dorian ducked under his arm and they traveled down to the courtyard. They used the back entrance of the tavern to slip out and moved quickly with soft steps to the gate.

Dorian felt Cole before he saw him. He turned to look at the spirit boy that had followed them, his large eyes watery. Bull hooked his hands under the bottom rung of the iron gate and began to lift it up. Dorian didn’t want to talk nor did he wish to waste the time either. He used his magic to help Bull lift the gate. When it was far enough off the ground, Dorian kicked the packs under them and rolled under the jagged points. Cole was on the other side of the gate in a moment.

Dorian used his mana to lift the gate a little taller than Bull who ducked under it. He reached his hand up as his body went under and Dorian let his mana go. Bull began to lower the gate as he moved his body away from it. Dorian made sure that the bottles of health inside the bag hadn’t been damaged. Cole shifted from foot to foot. Dorian turned and placed a comforting hand on the boy skinny shoulder. Cole ducked his head, his large hat hiding most of him from Dorian grey eyes, as he started down the road, knowing that Bull and Cole would follow.

“When we die, we come back different, and that difference is because we thought the changes we should have made to ourselves, would have been better, the next time around.” Cole explained, desperation in his voice. Dorian simply took a deep breath and kept walking, Cole following after him and Bull made sure to lower the gate back down as they followed after Lavellan and Abelas.

*****

Cassandra pushed her thumbs into her temples as hard as she could, trying to rub away the pounding headache she was nursing. Blackwall had elbowed her in the temple— as he had tried to pry Sera off of Cullen when she had jumped onto the poor man's back— and it had sent stars across her vision. After the small fight that happened in the war room, is was noted that Dorian, Cole and the Iron Bull had left Skyhold. Varric was seated across from her, holding his head back to try and stop the blood from leaking from his nose. It was broken, that she would see even in the late morning sun as it shone in her eyes from the window. They had gone to the rooms above the mage's tower to speak in private. She pinched the bridge of her nose, “This is getting ridiculous.”

Varric gave a long sniff, bring the blood back into his skull as he wiped at his upper lip, “Now, now, Seeker. Dorian and Lavellan have been thicker than Kirkwall gangs since they met. She left, he follows. He leaves, she follows.” He wiped the blood on his pants and titled his head forward a few inches before letting it title back again. A long line of blood had fallen onto his shirt by the small movement. He had given his handkerchief to Sera to stop the bleeding from where a moral tooth had been knocked from her jaw by Vivienne.

“She wouldn’t.” Cassandra said as she lifted her head away from her hands and let it rest on the back of the chair, slumping in her seat.

Varric gave a little chuckle, “That’s not what a little birdy told me.”

Cassandra thought for a moment. Lavllen did take Dorian with her on many missions. Except to the marshlands, Dorian had refused to leave. When Lavellan, Sera, Blackwall, and Varric returned however, Dorian was seen with Lavellan at all times for the better part of two weeks before they left for a new mission. If Dorian had favored women, Lavellan would have been married off in a week. But Dorian didn’t and this was why he and Bull had fallen for each other, and he had shooed more than one unwanted suitor away from his young friend. Cassandra smiled, “Dorian wouldn’t let her.”

“Oh, please. Dorian would tell her no, she would give him that look, he’d break, and then all three of them would leave. Well, four now. Five.” Varric said and pressed his thumb into the dip on his upper lip, feeling the vein below compress. Hopefully it would stop the bloodflow. He had seen Hawke do it a few times and it had worked.

Cassandra gave a low huff on angry air, “Who else, dare I ask?”

“Tiny won’t leave Sparkler. Sparkler won’t try to stop the Inquisitor. Cole loves them all and now Abelas is in the mix too.” Varric explained.

“Solas is not part of this little runway group?” Cassandra chuckled.

The blood had slowed and Varric put his head in his hands, “Naw. He’d be here, holding down the fort, and if they stayed away too long then he would go and get them. A big bad wolf herding lost sheep home.”

The man in question scared them both as they flinched in their seats and turned to look at him, “You have been waiting awhile to use that one have you, Varric?”

“Chuckles! Didn’t even hear you come in. And yes, I have been.”

Cassandra pushed out the other chair and Solas sat as she stopped slumping and looked at him with clear and focused eyes, “Solas, tell me you know where she might be going. Or even where she might stop to rest. If these cult members find her-”

Solas held up a hand and Cassandra stopped, he folded them on the table and spoke, “Calm yourself. This cult will avoid her at all cost, until they have enough blood to complete whatever dark deed they are planning.”

“You walk The Fade, do you not? What have the spirits said to you when you have spoken to them as you dream?” Cassandra asked with a sneer on her face.

Solas looked down at his folded hands. He licked his lips as he spoke, “They whisper to me no more. The Fade is everywhere, and all knowledge is in The Fade. When I left my old name behind, it was left in the Fade and all the horrors along with it. Solas was nothing but a dreamer, old and powerful, nothing more. Spirits and demons alike would speak to him. Now I am Fen’harel again to them, and they fear me too much to speak.”

Varric wiped the last of the blood from his upper lip, “So when you were Fen’harel, you could boss them around to get what you wanted. Solas didn’t do that, and they gave you secrets for free. Now that they know it was all a lie, they don’t wanna talk to you.”

“Yes.”

“Can you not speak to her then, as she dreams? She is a mage now is she not?” Cassandra asked, a hint of desperate anger in voice.

Solas handed Varric his handkerchief. Solas spoke carefully, “In a way. Lavellan—along with everyone, even Dwarves—has magic inside of them. She was never trained to control it or her dreams. Her mind has no true tether to The Fade. None of us of the old pantheon did. I have tried to find her, but she has blocked me and everything else from The Fade, from entering her mind as she dreams.”

“Why is that, Chuckles?” Varric asked after he blew his nose, getting the blood clots stuck inside out with one powerful blow.

“Mages need the connection to The Fade to cast spells. It is both a blessing and a curse. Tranquil have their magic still, but it is blocked off from The Fade. We of the old gods were Tranquil in body, but never in mind. Lavellan is Tranquil in both. She has little to no control over her magic and has not bothered to open the door in her mind to enter The Fade.” Solas said.

“She is a Tranquil Mage with the power to open rifts.” Cassandra said as she looked down at the table in front of her.

“As close to Tranquil as one can get without being cut off from magic, yes.”

Varric gave Solas a side long glance. He drummed his fingers on the table, “I have a question.”

“Varric…” Cassandra warned.

“It’s a question you might want answered too, Seeker.” Varric said with a smirk and his hands raised in surrender.

Solas turned to Cassandra, “It’s alright.” He turned to Varric with a raised eyebrow, “What is it you wish to know?”

“The mark on her hand was caused—in part—by you and that orb, right?”

“Yes.”

“Now that she has her own magic and is a god in her own right, what happens to it?”

Solas was silent for beat to long and both of them turned their eyes fully on him. Watching. Solas didn’t look up or raise his voice past a soft, “I do not know.”

“What?” Cassandra growled.

Solas took a deep breath and closed his eyes. They had a right to know. They had to know what might happen. Then he spoke, his tone firm and his eyes hard, locking onto both of them, “The mark was made by my errors, this is no lie. But to tell you I know what will happen, would be giving you false hope. I do not know what will happen to her. But I have a theory.”

“Oh joy, mages and theories. Sounds dangerous.” Varric joked.

“Dwarf!”

“All right, all right. Please, continue, Chuckles.”

Solas didn’t let the remark bother him. He spoke with his hands. His voice was loud. The noise from below kept others from hearing, “The mark was made by two different magical energies fighting for power within the orb. The orb opened a rift in the sky that lead into The Fade because the energies sought a way out. It also connected Lavallen to them, allowing her to seal the rifts and open them as she needed through sheer force of will alone. Now that her magic is awake, there is a chance that the mark will take it as an attack on her body, and try to...remove the attacker.”

The room was silent for a moment. Then two. Varric looked at Solas. Solas looked at Cassandra. Cassandra looked down at the table, her hands clutching at each other. Cassandra could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the words bearing down on her mind. She shook her head and looked at Solas, “I...I do not understand.”

Varric had never been one to beat around the bush. He was talker and liar. So he sugar coated it as best he could, “Chuckles here is trying to say, that Lavellan was dying before because the mark was still new and fighting with each other. She sealed rifts, they stopped fighting, it stopped killing her. Now she has magic and the mark. One of them has to give. And I don’t think it’ll be the mark.”

“Magic is inherited by blood.” Solas said softly.

Cassandra stood from her seat, her body shaking in fury as she glared down at Solas, “And by blood it can be taken away.”

“Lavellan is dying again and this time, there is no way to stop it.” Varric said as he stood from his seat, walking around the table and pushing Cassandra back down into hers. She went like a statue into quicksand. But she did sit once more.

Solas shook his head, “No. There is a way.”

“Then tell us. Don’t leave us in suspense.” Varric said.

“She would have to leave the mortal coil, enter The Fade covered her in own blood, and restore her former foci to its original power. The anchor on her hand would be no more dangerous to her than an odd birthmark.”

“How would she do that?” Cassandra asked through gritted teeth.

“She would have to fix the first Eluvian.”

“And where is that?”

Varric chuckled, “Take a guess.”

“Where Arlathan once stood?” Cassandra answered.

“No. The place that all mortals covet.” Solas said.

And in that moment, Cassandra knew where it was. She felt her face pale, “The Black City.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Dirthara-ma: "May you learn." Used as a curse  
> Garas quenathra: "Why are you here?/Why have you come?"  
> Ir abelas, ma vhenan: "I am filled with sorrow for your loss, my heart."  
> Ma vhenan: My heart (a term of endearment)  
> Ma serannas: My thanks (Thank you)  
> Telanadas: Nothing is inevitable  
> Asha: woman  
> Eth: safe


End file.
